


Battlestuck

by bananna_h, krasmataz, PunchRockgroin, spacewombat



Category: Battle Royale, Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - High School, Canonical Character Death, Crossover, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-06 13:10:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 36
Words: 123,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/419286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananna_h/pseuds/bananna_h, https://archiveofourown.org/users/krasmataz/pseuds/krasmataz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunchRockgroin/pseuds/PunchRockgroin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacewombat/pseuds/spacewombat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is a game. Now John, Rose, Dave, Jade, and all the others will fight for their survival to see if they're worthy of playing.</p><p>Battlestuck is a fanfiction that takes the cast of Homestuck (all humanstuck) and transplants them into the setting of the series Battle Royale. The premise: a high school class is trapped on an island, each assigned weapons and supplies. The only way to leave the island is to kill your fellow classmate until you are the last one standing.</p><p>Graphic violence and character death to follow, along with a mild amount of sexuality (no nudity, however.) You've been warned.</p><p>For more battlestuck, give our tumblr a look at battlestuck.tumblr.com.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and you are almost a high school student. Almost, in this sense, means not quite. You’ve still got just a few months of middle school left before you graduate and head to high school.

Which means you’re a few months away from candidacy into the Program.

At the moment, you’re heading to see a relative of yours. At your side is your friend, neighbor, classmate, and fellow sewing club alumni Casey Salamancer. She’s graciously volunteered to come with you, and you appreciate it. You didn’t have much interest in doing this by yourself.

“Volunteered” might be the wrong word, actually. Casey was at your house when you received the news, and she insisted on coming along for the inevitable visit. You’ve kept things deep on the down-low as best you can; if you didn’t, Jade and John and Dave would tag along. Then other people would come. Before you knew it, it’d be a whole class field trip, all twenty-nine of you going to see Roxy.

Going to see the Lalonde family murderer.

Okay, it isn’t her fault, nobody is going to blame her. The only choice your cousin made was to kill or be killed.

She chose the former. About thirty classmates of hers chose the latter.

You don’t blame Roxy, not for a moment. You just...you don’t know. You guess it’s just kind of strange to go see a girl, just a couple years your senior, who has taken another person’s life. Maybe several lives.

You like to read about serial killers and, as Dave refers to it, “grody fetish stuff” like that, but you’d never like to meet one. Depending on how many people she killed to win, Roxy might be a serial killer under the phrase’s literal definition.

The hospital is gleaming, polished white. Say what you like about the bureaucracy, at least they appreciate cleanliness enough to enforce it. You tell the receptionist, with her pink scrubs and caked-on makeup and her forced smile, that you’re here to see Roxy Lalonde. You tell her that you’re her younger cousin, and you want to talk with her.

The forced smile leaves the receptionist’s face, and she escorts you and Casey up three flights of stairs. When you reach Roxy’s room near the end of the hall, she gives you a short piece of advice.

Don’t do anything to upset her, she says, before heading back downstairs.

  


You peer into the room, and there she is.

God, she’s a mess. Her injuries are long since healed, as she’s been in this hospital for months. Apparently, she was in critical condition after the game, and nearly died in the process.

The thought that it might have been more merciful to let her die runs through your head, but you shake it out.

She’s lost twenty pounds if not more since the last time you saw her. Roxy had never been a particularly big girl; like you, she was slender, albeit with a bit more baby fat than you ever had. That fat is long gone, replaced with a literal hollowness to go with the figurative hollowness she now possesses.

The “winner” of the game sees you enter and smiles. Her smile is littered with gaps from broken and lost teeth, and is even further from an indicator of actual happiness than the one the receptionist bore.

“Hey, Rrrrrose,” she says, slurring your name as if it got stuck in her throat. “Good to ssssee you again...been a couple centuriesssss...”

  


There’s something wrong with the way she’s talking. You raise an eyebrow, trying to figure out the cause of it. It’s only when you walk inside the room do you figure it out.

This place smells like a distillery. Roxy’s drunk off her ass.

“Hey Roxy,” you nod after a moment’s hesitation. “How, exactly, did you manage to get booze into a hospital?

“By exploiting the kindnessss of others, how else?” Roxy’s toothless grin widens, and she puts a hand to her temple. “The nurssses think I’m this poor fucking boo-hoo baby who needs her bottle, and I’m too old for boob milk.”

You hear Casey rustle uncomfortably behind you. You’re used to Roxy’s crass demeanor; at least that much about her is the same.

You look at Roxy with disapproval. “Roxy, you were always able to control yourself before.”

“Oh, don’t try and politic my feelings.” Roxy snorts and wipes her nose. “It wasn’t a lot of ffffun, y’know. I spent a lot of time getting my ass kicked. I nearly died, like, eight times. I think I’ve earned a drink or forty.”

You don’t say anything. You walk a bit closer to Roxy. Casey makes some kind of weak protest, but does nothing to stop you.

Roxy puts her hands behind her head and reclines in her bed, smirking at you like you’re something vaguely amusing. “You’re actually disappointed in me, aren’t you...?”

“Am I?” You bite your lip. Are you?

Yeah, you suppose you are, a little. You knew Roxy was a fan of booze before her session, but she had also known how to handle her liquor. That seemed to be gone; she had stopped liking alcohol and started relying on it.

It’s kind of pathetic.

You weren’t going to say that, though; you couldn’t imagine what Roxy had gone through. She had nearly died, as she said; she didn’t need a lecture from you.

“Are you alright?” you finally ask after about twenty seconds of having no response. “I heard you were in a pretty precarious condition, but you seem...fine now.”

Roxy’s response was to pull her left leg out from under the covers. Her fingers trace down the long, pale, wasting limb, down to a pinkish-brown scar on the back of her knee. It’s deep and large and ugly and it makes a slight shiver run down the length of your spine.

“That’s nnnnnever going away,” Roxy says quietly. “Ever. Evvvvery time I walk, it’s going to hurt. Be like that until the day I die, or get my leg cut off, I guess.” She can’t even keep up the fake smile anymore.

You force yourself to keep your eyes on the scar. You’re afraid to ask, exactly, how she got it. Finally, you take a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? You didn’t give it to me.”

“I understand the opinion that we shouldn’t apologize for things that aren’t our fault,” you say, letting your eyes travel up from Roxy’s leg to her empty eyes. “I just don’t agree with it. I’m sorry this happened to you, Roxy.”

Roxy sticks her tongue out and blows a raspberry at you. “Don’t worry about me. Worry about yourself, Rosey. You’re eligible for this, almost. Worry that you’ll end up like me. Worry you’ll have to kill one or all of your friends, like...like that cutey back there.”

Casey’s eyes go wide, and the color drains from her face. You growl, your hands balling into fists. You’ve been trying really hard to stay civil, but Roxy’s not making it easy.

“That won’t happen,” you say icily. “Most kids don’t go into the program. You’re the exception, not the rule.”

“True,” Roxy shrugs. “Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t conssssider the possibility.” She reaches under her bed and pulls out an opened can of cheap beer. Putting it to her lips, she takes an unhealthily large swig of the swill, a brown trail of it leaving her mouth and dripping onto her gown.

You glare at her in disgust, and she notices. Lowering the can, Roxy swallows and blinks at you. “...Want some?”

You turn around to leave. “...Come on, Casey,” you say. You have nothing left to say to your cousin.

She apparently has something to say to you, though. With a speed you weren’t expecting, you hear her stand up behind you, and with a strength you weren’t expecting, she turns you around and grabs your arm.

 

“Don’t think I’m joking around just because I’m hilariousss,” she whispers in your ear. “Do you want to die, Rosey? Or do you want to live? Because you can’t win the game if you don’t want to live.”

“Fine, Roxy,” you say, trying not to show how uncomfortable you are. “What do I have to do?”

“Trust no one. No one, not even your best friends. You can be allies, but...nnnever drop your guard if another person is near you. And never show mercy to someone who tried to kill you. Ssssave your bullets...as much as you can. If you have a choice between fighting and running, always run. Fires are a great way to give away your position.” Roxy hesitates a moment for her final tip. “And if sssomeone is slowing you down, even if they’re your friend, leave them behind. Only one of you can make it out alive. One. You get me?”

“I get you,” you say. “Now let me go.”

You feel the vice-grip on your arm loosen, and Roxy trudges back to her bed. “Good luck, Rose,” she sighs, lying back down.

“I haven’t been selected for the program yet,” you say, joining Casey at the door.

“Good luck not being chosen, then. And if you are chosen, good luck winning. Heheh. Hahaha! Ahahaha!”

You glare at disgust at the cackling Roxy, then you and Casey leave the hospital room.

“Rose,” Casey manages about a minute later, while the two of you are on the elevator. “Do you...do you think they’ll actually select us?”

“No,” you say soothingly. “Roxy’s...Roxy’s crazy. Don’t worry, our chances of being chosen are very, very slim. Trust me.”

 

  
You are still Rose Lalonde.

Nine months later.

  


The rest of your ninth grade class are heading up into the mountains for a “special surprise,” as your teacher told you. The bus is new; a little different than the usual ones you use to drive places.

It’s rather loud in here; everybody is hanging with their friends. You, for instance, are with your good friends John, Dave, and Jade. Normally, Casey would have joined the four of you, but she’s in the back making googly eyes with Cody, her boyfriend. You’d never tell her it, but you’re pretty sure they’re only dating because they’re the two most awkward people in your class.

John and Dave are talking about the usual goofy stuff they talk about: soccer, movies, music. They’d probably be talking about girls, too, if you and Jade weren’t here.

“You think this is team-related?” John asks, his front teeth sticking out. John, along with Casey, is one of your oldest friends. Physically, he’s pretty solidly built: short but surprisingly muscular limbs on a thick, slightly-pudgy mid-section. He’s been like that for as long as you can remember, and him taking up soccer a couple years back hasn’t done much for his baby fat.

“I hope not,” replies Dave. “These mountains are in the rocky ass-crack of the world. I don’t want to play up here, that’d be stupid. The Skaian Tigers against the Inbred Academy Sisterfuckers. I bet three quarters of the team has got, like, weird webbed feet or whatever.”

Dave’s a tall, long-limbed guy who runs faster than nearly anyone else in your class. His face is long and thin, too, as is his mouth. His eyebrows, meanwhile, are huge, thick, bushy, and hilarious. Rather than shave them off, he chooses to hide them behind a pair of sunglasses; technically against school policy, but nobody cares much.

John scowls at Dave. “Great, now I’m afraid that we’re going to run out of gas and somebody is going to find us. Do you have any idea how purty my mouth is?”

“Absolutely beautiful,” Dave mutters, looking around the bus. “I’m really in no mood to play.”

“I don’t think it’s a game!” exclaims Jade. “Look, coach isn’t here. Neither is teacher.” Jade’s another old friend, one of an excitable temperament and a volume control problem. It earned her several disciplinings when she was younger, but that did very little to remedy the problem. The schools eventually accepted that this was one thing they wouldn’t be able to change.

She’s the shortest of the four of you, a lot like John physically: short-but-strong legs on a soft middle. She’s also bustier than you, but that isn’t saying very much.

“Also, if none of you have realized, we didn’t bring any of our equipment.” You raise an eyebrow at your friends. “No uniforms, no balls, no shoes. We’d have to play in our school uniforms.”

Dave flares his nostrils, as he is prone to do when he realizes you’re right. He basically never stops flaring his nostrils. “Rose, nobody cares about the equipment but you. You are literally the only human being on the planet who gives a shit.”

This is actually fairly true, as you are the team’s equipment manager. What this translates to is a marginally more impressive resume and technical membership on the soccer team in exchange for very little work. Mostly, you just sit and read during practice.

“Something the matter, Dave?” Jade asks. “You seem kind of tense.”

“I don’t know, something about all this is giving me bad juju.” Dave looks out the window as you drive farther and farther into the mountains. “There’s nothing so far out here. If there’s a town, it’s gotta be only a couple hundred people, tops.”

John scratched his head and shrugged. “Maybe it’s like a nature thingy? We’ll have to draw pictures of birds and try not to eat poisonous mushrooms and fun stuff like that?”

“That’s little baby crap. We haven’t done anything like that since primary school... dunno. Maybe.” Dave sits back, his arms crossed.

There is several seconds of silence before Jade speaks up. “Great, now I’m nervous! Thanks a lot, Dave, you jerk!”

Dave raises his hands in mock surrender. “Easy there. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“I agree with Jade. You’ve gotten me somewhat worried, Dave,” you say. It’s the truth. Now that he’s been talking about it, you’re kind of curious as to the point of this expedition is. “I’ll go ask the bus driver where we’re going. If he doesn’t tell me, we hijack the bus and start a savage band of mountainous raiders.”

“I’ll go with you,” offers John, “for both of those things.” The two of you stand up, him just a couple inches shorter than you, and start walking to the front of the bus.

John stops about halfway up the rows, between the seats of Tavros, Aradia, Sollux, and Feferi. “Rose. Why is the bus driver putting on a gas mask?”

“What?” You look at the driver and, sure enough, he’s pulling on a black breathing apparatus. As he straps the mask to his face, he reaches under the dashboard of the bus and presses something.

There’s a faint-but-audible hissing noise, and the walls of the bus begin secreting a thick, colorless mist.

“Rose, w-what’s going on?” says John, looking back and forth frantically.

“I’m not sure,” you say, feeling your heart begin to try and force its way out of your chest. “But I intend to find out.”

Pushing your way past the clamoring students, you start to make your way to the front of the bus. It’s then that you’re hit with the fact that you are more tired than you’ve ever been in your entire life.

Seriously. It’s like you haven’t slept in a week. Your feet feel like they’ve been shackled to the floor, and your eyelids begin to get pulled down against your will. Yawning, you manage one or two more steps before losing your balance.

On your way down, something catches you. With barely open eyes, you look and see the transfer student, Pandora Merriett, her cheeks puffed out.

She lowers you into her seat, then punches the window. Nothing. Her elbow smashes into the window next, but it bounces off like the windows were made of something much sturdier than glass.

The last thing you hear before everything becomes darkness is the white-haired girl muttering “damn it, not again...”

 

You are now the bus driver.

  


With all the subjects neutralized, you hit the button under the dashboard. The fans begin to spin, sucking back in all the sleeping gas. While you wait for the air to become breathable again, you spin the wheel, turning the bus around.

Finally, with the air clear, you take a small radio off the dash and put it to your mouth.

“All subjects subdued and accounted for,” you say. “Bringing them to the testing site now.”

“...How do they look?” the voice on the other end asks. You turn your head to look at the thirty subjects.

“Honestly?” you say after a moment’s thought. “I think they’re going to tear one another to pieces.”

END OF CHAPTER ONE


	2. Until Only One of You is Still Alive

Your name is John Egbert, and everything is haze.

It’s just a mess of muted colors and an awful buzzing in your ears. There’s something cold and tight on your neck, like a dog’s collar. You put your hands to it, but it doesn’t seem to want to budge. 

You shut your eyes, wincing, trying to figure out exactly what was going on. You were on the bus...and then you stood up...and then...

And then...

Something.

Now you’re here, in what seems to be a classroom. Pretty similar to the ones back at school, but just different enough to let you immediately know that this room isn’t a place you’ve been to before in your life.

All around you are your twenty-nine classmates, some still passed out on their desks, others coming to. One or two seem to have already been awake for some time.

You’re sitting in the back left of the room, with that surly thug known as Harvey Boxcars sitting in front of you and partially blocking your view. He’s Male Student Number...Ten, you think. Next to you is Female Student Number Thirteen Shelby Cetus, who you don’t know very well. You and her are often next to each other in line due to you sharing a number, but she’s very shy and rarely says much to you.

But in front of Shelby, next to Harvey, is someone you can talk to.

“Rose,” you whisper, “what’s going on? Where are we?”

“What would compel you to think that I would know?” Rose asks, looking over her shoulder at you. “And why are you whispering?”

“Uh...felt right for the situation.” You shrug, then adjust to your regular volume. “Are you alright?”

“Fine, just a bit disoriented. How about you? Harvey? Shelby? Cole?”

Harvey just grunts, saying nothing. You tell Rose you’re still a bit woozy, but okay. Shelby just mutters about feeling a little nauseous.

“I’m fine Rose, thanks for asking!” says Male Student Number Eleven Cole Deuce, sitting to Rose’s right. “I’m just confused with what’s going on. You think this is like, I don’t know, part of the field trip?”

Harvey grunts again, this time more forcefully. Cole seems to get the hint and turns to face forward.

"It’s not part of the trip,” says Rose thoughtfully. “They...gassed us. But why would they-”

All the color drains out of Rose’s face. She’s one of the more pale people you know, so the fact that she managed to deprive her cheeks of what little rosiness (heh) that they have is a bit impressive-and worrisome.

“Rose? Something the matter?”

“No,” she whispers. “No, no, no, no-”

There is a clatter in the front of the classroom as the door swings open.

A man walks in. He’s tall, skinny, and pale as bleached bones. You’d guess him to be something like seventy, a very healthy seventy. He walks with the slightest limp, but has no cane or any sort of walking aid.

His clothes are pine green, a fine but well-worn suit with a black tie. It’s a tiny bit disheveled, like he wears it so often that he stopped putting a tremendous amount of effort into maintaining it. More interesting are his white driving gloves, covering every inch of his hands.

With that high collar, the only skin visible is his head; milky skin, hair the color of snow, and lime green eyes. There’s no way that’s his real eye color. They’ve got to be contacts or something.

Flanking the man is a pair of black-clad soldiers, their faces obscured with masks and sunglasses. They’ve got big, big guns in their hands. You also notice the Imperial logo on their uniforms.

“Hello, class,” the old man says pleasantly, his voice clear and crisp. “My name is Doctor Scratch. I will be your teacher today. Say, ‘hello, Doctor Scratch!’”

He pauses, as if waiting for anyone to respond with something besides a confused stare. After a moment, he sighs and smiles paternally at you. Not you specifically, you know that, but something about him makes it feel like he’s directly speaking to you and you only.

“That won’t do at all,” he says, still smiling. “You all know better than that. When your teacher says to do something, you do it, yes? So let’s try that again, and this time with feeling: ‘hello, Doctor Scratch!’”

For some reason, you find yourself murmuring it with everyone else.

Doctor Scratch nods appreciatively. “Excellent. It does my heart good to see children who know how to conduct themselves. Now then, let’s begin your lesson.” Turning around to face the chalkboard, Scratch begins to write something down. His handwriting is straight, meticulous, and a thousand times nicer than yours.

“SBURB Act”

You hear Rose make a noise halfway between a whimper and a grunt.

“I’m sure many of you have heard of it before,” says Doctor Scratch, returning the chalk to its tray. “But for those who haven’t, let me tell you its more colloquially known name: The Program.”

The only sound in the room is the distant din of a radiator. Nobody moves or makes a noise. For a moment, you don’t think anyone did so much as breathe.

You know you didn’t. Your hands are slick with sweat. You feel a slight jolt of pain as your fingernails dig into your palms. You open your mouth to gasp, but no noise comes out.

No. No, it can’t be. You refuse to believe it.

“I see a lot of confusion, which is understandable.” Doctor Scratch pulls out a handkerchief and begins to casually wipe down his hands. “I will dispel any sort of illusions you have about the situation. You thirty students will be released from this room. Then you will kill each other until only one of you is still alive.”

“No!”

From the front of the room, a high-pitched male voice pipes up, his tone dripping with fear and anger.

You aren’t certain who it was that yelled until he stands up: Cody Nak, Male Student Number One. You don’t really know the guy all that well. He and Dave are friends, and you’re both on the soccer team together, but he’s always been a nervous, reserved kind of person.

The fact it was he that started shouting and not, say, Karkat, is pretty surprising to you. Judging from the way he’s shaking and shivering, poor Cody’s out of his mind with fear.

Doctor Scratch does nothing for a moment except watch Cody, a slight frown on his face. He then looks down at a folder on his desk. “Male Student Number One...Cody Nak. Young man, it is extremely rude to interrupt your teacher. Please sit down, or I will be forced to take disciplinary measures against you.”

Cody trembles a bit more before Female Student Number One Kanaya Maryam (one of Rose’s friends, she doesn’t talk to you much,) grabs his arm and says something to him. What she said, you couldn’t hear, but Cody slowly sits back down.

Doctor Scratch then continues as if nothing had happened. “You will each receive a pack with supplies, a map, and a randomly chosen weapon inside. My advice to all of you is try to trade up for something better whenever you can. If you haven’t found a gun, you’ll be at a sore disadvantage once you meet someone who does.”

Scratch then picks something up off the desk. It’s a thick black collar, very much like the one you and every other student is wearing. A red light dully beams from it. “This is what I like to call insurance. Once you leave this building, you cannot return to it. It’s a ‘no man’s land’. Every six hours, I will come on over the intercoms and inform you which students have died, and which sectors of the island are now ‘no man’s lands’. I’d suggest marking them on your map, because otherwise...”

Doctor Scratch puts the collar back on the desk and pulls out a small transceiver. He presses a few buttons on it, then takes several steps back.

The collar then explodes.

It isn’t a huge explosion, really. It’s loud, cracking like a dozen gunshots, shaking the foundation of the building a bit. It makes you jump in your chair, but it doesn’t produce much bang. That doesn’t stop your brain from putting together an image in your head of the collar you’re wearing doing that exact same thing.

"We can trigger the collars remotely at any time, so I’d recommend against any ideas of escaping. It’s a rather pointless prospect, anyways; we’re on an island hundreds of miles from the mainland. There are several boats patrolling the waters around the island, so any attempt to construct a method of escape will be met with severe force. Back to the collars, they are shockproof, waterproof, and fireproof. Any attempts to damage or dismantle them will lead to a detonation. Entering a ‘no man’s land’ at any time will lead to a detonation. And, this is my least favorite rule of all...”

Doctor Scratch holds up the transceiver and points to a glass-encased button at the bottom. “If there are no students killed in twenty-four straight hours, then I press this button. It causes every single collar to detonate. I’ve had to use it three times before, and every one of those times was a great disappointment to me. You kids won’t fail me like they did, will you?”

You wonder how many kids have heard this exact same speech from Scratch. He has to have done this numerous times before. That means hundreds and hundreds of kids were sent to their deaths by him. Maybe even thousands.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so filled with so much loathing in your entire life. You’re a pretty genial guy, you like to think. You don’t get angry easily, and you try to stay on good terms with as many people as you can.

But right now, you want nothing more than to wrap your hands around Doctor Scratch’s ancient neck and squeeze until the life leaves those fakey-fake green eyes.

You don’t think you’re the only one who’s thinking that way. You’re not a body language expert or anything like that, but a few guys in the class are looking pretty volatile. Spencer Slick, Male Student Number Eight, for instance, is visibly shaking with rage. Karkat’s shaking too, but you don’t think he’s actually angry. Probably just scared out of his mind, though he wouldn’t admit it if you asked him.

Dave is sitting still, as far as you can tell. You wonder what he’s thinking right now. As close friends as you are, you’ve never been quite able to get into Strider’s head. He’s good at keeping things to himself.

“Now then, I think I adequately explained the rules to you all.” Doctor Scratch still has that awful smile on his face. “Does anyone have any questions?”

“Y-y-yeah,” says a male voice from the front of the room. “I’ve g-got a que-que-question.” You hear a general deflation in the room as you and everybody else realizes the voice belongs, once again, to Cody.

Scratch folds his hands and sits on the edge of the table. “Yes, Mister Nak?”

“Wh-what gives you the r-right to do this?” Cody demands/stutters, standing up out of his chair. He’s terrified out of his wits, but you can’t say you blame him. If you were talking right now, you’re not sure if you’d be able to keep your composure nearly as well. “H-how can you send us to our d-d-d-deaths just like that?”

“Well, young man, that’s an interesting question, though I don’t much care for your tone. The SBURB act was created to teach young people, much like yourselves, discipline. When the Empire first came into existence, there were quite a few dissidents. The SBURB act was used to convince most of the error of their ways. That said, several of you have parents, relatives, or friends with certain...proclivities. Anti-Imperial sentiments, for one. That simply won’t do. ”

Doctor Scratch’s eyes wander across the room and he clucks his tongue disapprovingly. You’re not really sure what he’s referring to. Your dad is just an ordinary businessman. His only procli-whatever is baking, which you’re pretty sure there is no Imperial law against.

“In addition,” Scratch continues, “this class has had some disciplinary problems in the past. Gangs, fights, even a hospitalization. In this school year alone, more than a half-dozen fistfights and altercations have occurred that involved you students. Frankly, there are some of you that we would all be better off without. Your teacher himself told us as much when we told him you were chosen."

"Of course, there are several gems in the class, too.” Scratch flexes his fingers and licks his lips. “But, as much as it saddens me to say, sometimes even decent children must suffer so that the bad seeds among their peers can be disciplined.”

So that’s what it is? Your class behaved poorly, so you’re all going to die? No, no, you don’t believe that. Sure, Spencer Slick and his friends are unfriendly, but you wouldn’t call them a gang...at least, you don’t think so. Aradia falling down the stairs was just an accident. As for the fistfights...well, you don’t know much about them, but they were nothing serious. There’s no way this is a disciplinary thing.

This is way too much for you to think about right now. You have much bigger concerns than the reason why you’re here.

Doctor Scratch smiles at Cody, his eyes flashing. “Are you satisfied with that explanation, Mister Nak?”

From the fact Cody has yet to sit down, you’d hazard a guess that no, he is not, in fact, satisfied. You watch him ball his trembling hands into fists. “You’re...you’re a monster,” Cody spits. “A fucking sicko. You’re the one who should have to d-die, not us.”

You nod your head in agreement. Cody’s absolutely right. There’s something of a clatter as people stir in their seats. If you all rushed him at once, maybe you could take the soldiers by surprise, and Scratch wouldn’t be able to detonate your collars in time...

To your surprise, Scratch nods, too. “I’m very sorry you feel that way, Mister Nak. We are all entitled to our own opinions. However, I cannot tolerate such rudeness and vulgarity. You’re a student, Mister Nak, you should know better than to speak like that to a teacher. I’m afraid...”

Scratch reaches into his lapel and pulls out something long and metallic that takes you far too long to identify. “I’m afraid I’ll have to discipline you.”

There’s a gunshot like a crack of thunder, and your hands instinctively go to your ears to cover them. For a moment, you shut your eyes, too, wincing as the shot rings for several seconds.

When you open your eyes, Cody is slumped dead on his desk.

The top half of his head is partially exploded: there’s just a big chunk of it missing. Bits of blood and brain splattered all over the floor and desk behind him, including several flecks of remains on Male Student Number Four Equius Zahhak.

Your stomach tightens and twists in a manner most curious as you watch one of Cody’s eyes slide across the bloody slick he’s left on the floor. You swallow some bile and avert your gaze, but you can still see Cody in your head as if you had never looked away.

You hear a scream on the other side of the room. It’s Female Student Number Twelve, Casey Salamancer, tears streaming down her face as she shrieks for her dead boyfriend. Her wail is a high-pitched sob, an incoherent mess of words getting caught in her throat and coming out malformed.

“Calm down, young lady,” say Doctor Scratch calmly as he lowers his pistol. “You’re making a scene. I wouldn’t want to have to discipline you, as well.”

Casey doesn’t listen. She tries to stand up, but the girl behind her stops her. It takes you a moment to recognize Female Student Number Fifteen, Simone Frost.

You don’t really know Simone at all. She gets excellent grades, is extremely athletic, and rarely says a word to anyone. You wouldn’t call her shy; you feel more like she thinks you’re all beneath her. Dave calls her “Snowman” because her black lipstick and pale skin makes him think of one. You think an ice sculpture would be a more fitting comparison, but the nickname has stuck with quite a few people.

Simone grabs Casey’s wrist and holds on tight. Casey pulls and struggles to get away, but the tall, stoic girl is much larger and stronger than she is. Casey is pretty tiny, and Simone has six inches or more on her.

“Letmego!” Casey screams, her voice shrill and choked. “Letmegoletmegoletmego!” Simone does not let her go, instead holding her hands firmly, her face expressionless.

“Casey!” shouts a commanding, authoritative voice from in front of you. You turn to look at Rose, her fists clenched and her jaw set. She’s also stood up, her expression a disapproving glower. “You need to calm down. Getting yourself killed won’t bring Cody back. It won’t change anything. Just hold on, okay? Everything is going to be alright. I promise.”

Casey starts gasping and hiccupping, but at least she’s stopped screaming. Doctor Scratch turns his pistol to Rose, but he holds it upwards so that the barrel is pointing at the ceiling. “Very good, young lady. Female Student Number Ten, Rose Lalonde, yes? I’m familiar with your cousin Roxy. She played quite well. I hope you can do the same.”

Rose says nothing. She just stares darkly at Scratch, an icy-cold rage in her eyes you’ve never seen before. Rose can be scary when she wants to be, and right now, she really, really wants to be.

It doesn’t seem to faze Scratch. He waves his hand dismissively and sits back down on the desk. “Now, young women, please return to your seats. It’s very rude to stand up in class without permission.”

Casey settles back into her seat, shivering and sobbing in brief, hysterical gasps. Simone sits back down wordlessly and leans back, leaving your line of sight. Rose is the last of the three to sit, and when she does, she sits at rapt attention, her back perfectly straight.

Scratch takes an intercom off the desk and puts it up to his mouth. “I need a security team to bring in the equipment,” he says. “...And prep a clean-up crew. I made a mess.”

As if on cue, the door flies open and a dozen more soldiers walk in, their faces obscured with black gas masks. In their hands are machine guns, except for one man who has a duffel bag in his hands. He stays close to the door.

“I am going to send you all out by your number, one after another, two minutes apart. The gentleman at the door will hand you your bag with your supplies and weapon in it.” Scratch points at the man with the bag. You wish you could have some hint as to what kind of weapon the bag contains, but it’s impossible to tell. “The second the last of you is out the door, this building is a no man’s land. I’ll see one and only one of you when the game is over.”

Scratch reaches into his jacket, and for a moment, you’re afraid he’s going to take out his pistol again. But this time, it’s a pocket watch with a golden chain. “One last bit of advice,” he says. “Life is a game. It’s time for you all to see if you’re worthy of playing it. Male Student Number One…you may go.” After a moment of dead silence, he looks up frowning. “Male Student Number One? Is there a prob-”

Scratch’s green eyes catch the sight of Cody and his exploded head. “Ah, yes. I forgot. Well then, Female Student Number One. You may go.”

Kanaya stands up wordlessly. She doesn’t look at anyone or break her stride as she heads to the door, takes the bag from the soldier, and walks out the door. Someone in the hallway hands the doorman another bag. You all sit in tense silence, Scratch watching the hands of the watch intently.

“Male Student Number Two.”

Tavros Nitram gets to his feet, legs shaking under him. It looks like that they took his crutch from him, and abject fear seems to be worsening his limp. He stumbles to the door and takes his own bag.

Two minutes later, Doctor Scratch breaks the silence once more, calling for Female Student Number Two. Jade stands up, her face grimly determined but her eyes shiny with tears. You wish you could go over to her and tell her things were going to be alright.

There are a few problems with that. One, if you did, Scratch would kill you, and probably Jade too.

Two, things are most certainly not going to be alright.

Pandora Merriett, the transfer student, goes next, out in a flash. After her is Sollux, who is trying and failing to suppress his trembling. Terezi walks out slowly, as she’s also been deprived of her cane. Equius storms out, glaring at Scratch as he walks past, blood speckling his sunglasses.

Aradia is cool and collected on her way out, almost scarily so. Dave is out quicker than anybody so far except for Pandora, but not before he shoots you a meaningful glance, tilting his head down so you get a momentary glimpse of his eyes. Nepeta and Gamzee both leave one after another with vacant expressions, like they’re in trances.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Every minute is longer than the last one. It’s torture sitting here, waiting for your name to be called.

Feferi audibly gnashes her teeth as she passes Scratch. You know her mom is someone really important, but you guess whoever your parents are isn’t really important to whoever chose your class. Desmond Droog, who has never said a word to you, straightens his jacket as he goes. Then goes Vriska.

Vriska. You’re really worried about her. She’s always been a...temperamental person. Much as you’ve tried to dissuade her, she’s way too fond of violence for her own good. You had hoped she’d get over it someday.

She needs someone to make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid. That was you in the past. You aren’t sure what that’ll mean now, seeing as how only one of you can-

You put that thought out of your mind. Can’t focus on that, it’ll drive you crazy.

The next student is called. It’s Spencer Slick, who seems to contemplate spitting at Scratch before deciding against it. Naga Basile, her face a wide, unsettling grin, is next. Stephen Liche skulks out with his hands in his pockets.

Finally, it’s Rose’s turn. She doesn’t waste any time, walking across the emptying classroom and taking her bag. Before she goes, she pauses and nods her head twice: first at you, then at Casey.

Casey sniffles a bit, but says nothing. Harvey Boxcars, the largest student in the class, leaves next, nearly knocking over a desk as he goes. Isabel Echidna, one of the sweetest and friendliest people you know, flicks her tongue nervously as she leaves. Cole Deuce walks out as if he was being dismissed for the day, apparently oblivious to the situation entirely.

It’s Casey’s turn. She stumbles out the door, wiping her eyes and nearly dropping the bag as the soldier hands it to her. Poor girl. She isn’t going to last very long, is she?

You blink twice, then make a mental note to kill yourself later for thinking that.

Ronald Impe leaves with his head down, and then Shelby is called. She stands up next to you, her hand making some sort of vague gesture of farewell as she heads to the door and collects her bag.

Then Scratch calls Male Student Number Thirteen: John Egbert.

Your legs feel like they’re made of gelatin as you walk to the door. Everything feels uncomfortable, the very feeling of your clothes against your skin makes you want to scream. You’re sweating heavily, and your hands folded together so tightly that your knuckles are white.

The walk to the door is the longest walk of your life. After a millennium, you make it to the door, accepting the surprisingly light bag from the soldier.

Taking a deep breath, you walk through the door, finding yourself in a bare hallway. There are three other rooms in this building, but all the doors are closed and guarded.

A soldier jerks his head to the right, and you walk down the hallway to a closed door at the end. With your free hand, you open it and step outside.

END OF CHAPTER TWO


	3. Put a Stop to This, No Matter What

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains mildly triggering sexual content.

Your name is John Egbert, and you are not sure what to do now.

That’s a lie, actually. You know exactly what to do. Put a lot of space between yourself and the schoolhouse (which is a lot smaller than you expected it to be) before the next person comes outside. That person would be Female [ Student ](http://www.tumblr.com/blog/battlestuck)Number Fourteen Olga Grey, who is big and scary and could probably beat you up without too much trouble. She doesn’t like you much, or anyone else for that matter.

No, you need to find some cover, then try to link up with Rose and Dave and Jade and Karkat and Vriska. They’re your friends, and the six of you together (plus anyone else they want to bring along) should be able to figure out a way out of this mess.

Karkat and Rose are two of the smartest people on the planet. Jade is always positive, and she’ll keep you guys positive too. Dave has an answer to every question and a solution to every problem. Vriska can squeeze her way out of literally any situation; she is a social escape artist. You’re…well, you’re you. You’ll help however you can.

The six of you together will find an answer. A way to escape this island, a way to rescue the class. Things are going to be alright.

You like that thought, so you repeat it aloud. “Things are going to be alright,” you say as you jog into the forest about twenty feet away from the schoolhouse. “Things are going to be alright.”

There was a road, but you think traveling it is a bad idea. The trees and shrubbery of this forest aren’t very thick, so you don’t have much trouble navigating it. Your pack isn’t very heavy, either. You figure that once you’re positive you’re [ safe ](http://www.tumblr.com/blog/battlestuck), you can search it for supplies.

But then, running through the forest unprotected is a bad idea. You stop at a nearby tree, then drop the bag. You look left, then right, making sure no one is around, then you fall to your knees and open it.

You find water bottles (including an unfilled canteen,) dried meats and fruits, some dried rations, a compass, a map of the island that you stuff into your pocket, a watch, a claw hammer for building a shelter, bandages and disinfectant, but there’s nothing in here to be used as a weapon. No gun, no knife, not even, like, a bat or something.

You feel your cheeks turn red. Was Scratch lying when he said he was giving everyone weapons? Is it just you without anything in your pack, or other people, too? Was this a mistake?

Why is there only one tool in the kit, for that matter? A claw hammer could be used to make a shelter, but it’s kind of useless without nails. Why would they give you a hammer, but nothing else? Are they expecting you to-

Oh.

You look at the hammer and feel your cheeks turn even redder. Your assigned weapon is something you’d get at a hardware store.

You swing it a couple times, feeling the heft of the thing. It could be a decent weapon, you guess, if you hit someone hard with it- in self-defense, of course. But if you meet someone with a gun, or a big knife, or whatever kind of crazy stuff that’s been packed into these bags, well, you’d better hope you can talk your way out of the situation.

You zip your bag up and stand, the claw hammer in your right hand. You aren’t sure what good it’ll do you, but it’s kind of comforting to hold it. At the moment, it’s the closest thing you have to a friend.

A shrill voice breaks the serenity of the forest. A shrill, _female_ voice to be precise.

It’s a scream, not very far from you. Your first instinct is to head in the opposite direction. Whatever’s happening, you probably don’t want to involve yourself.  
But something stops you. That wasn’t a scream of pain. It sounded like a scream choked out between sobs. It almost sounded like a garbled cry for help.  
As stupid as it makes you, you would never be able to forgive yourself if you heard a girl screaming for help and decided to leave her to die.

You jog in the direction of the scream, hoping that it’s not too late for you to do something. You notice the ground start to slope downwards, and as the screams get louder and louder, you realize that the confrontation is probably going on atop a hill.

Sure enough, you find the source of the screams running up an incline. Your eyes widen as you recognize Casey, her face drenched with tears, as she runs away from someone, her duffel bag swinging with each step.

Casey’s a slight, pretty girl. She has a round, soft face and big shiny eyes. You’ve always thought she was really pretty, with long legs and a sweet smile. She’s never been anything but kind to you and absolutely everyone else. You know Rose is incredibly protective of her, and now that you’re seeing her at what is probably the worst moment of her life, you think you understand why.

She looks terrible, her eyes all red and blotchy from crying so much. You feel a surge of anger at whoever did this to her. You have to help her, it simply isn’t optional. Gripping your hammer, you start to come out from the tree you’ve been hiding behind.

A gunshot rings out, clear and terrible. The next thing you know, Casey is on the ground, holding her knee and crying even louder. Blood has stained her fingers already.

You retreat back to behind the tree. You want to help Casey, but she’s being hunted by someone with a gun. There probably isn’t much for you to do with just a hammer. You should go.

You should, but you don’t. Your feet are rooted to the spot. All logic and reason are telling you to distance yourself as much as you can, as fast as you can.  
You decide to put logic and reason aside for a minute and watch. Running up to Casey now will definitely get you shot, but maybe there’ll be an opportunity later…

As you hide, the gunman comes into view. It’s Male [ Student ](http://www.tumblr.com/blog/battlestuck) Number Twelve, Ronald Impe. You know him from the soccer team; kind of a nasty guy, altogether. You don’t think he’s that bad, but you’re probably in the minority in thinking that. Dave especially hates him, calling him “eight hundred pounds of shit in an eighty pound frame.”

You aren’t sure about that first part, but Ronald is quite small. All the boys in the class outweigh him, as do many of the girls. He’s quite speedy, though, and a pretty decent soccer player. His head is too big for his body, and he has a very long, [ skinny ](http://www.tumblr.com/blog/battlestuck) neck. His black hair is ruffled and covering his slight eyebrows as he slowly advances on Casey.

Honestly, you hadn’t even thought about him up until this point. But here he is.

“I told ya, Casey,” he sighs, his voice pinched and nasally. “I told ya that I’d have to hurt you if you ran. Could’ve made this so much easier for yourself.”

“Please Ronald,” Casey whimpers. “Please, please no…”

“Now, see, that’s just rude. This running and screaming and whimpering like I’m the bad guy here, it’s starting to wear on me.” Ronald walks up to Casey, a smoking pistol in his hand, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Casey’s dropped her bag a little bit away, you notice.

“I’m just trying to do something nice for you, and this is how you pay me back.” Ronald takes a seat next to her, pointing the barrel at Casey’s chest. “Your boyfriend’s in pieces on the floor, I [ offer ](http://www.tumblr.com/blog/battlestuck) to make you feel better. It’s really rude. I thought you were a nice girl.”

Casey doesn’t reply, at least not verbally. She’s just staring at Ronald with horror and slowly shaking her head no.

“See? Now you understand.” Impe smiles wolfishly at Casey. “I shot you because you were making my life harder. And, let’s be honest, I don’t have much time left. Somebody big and tough is going to win this. I’m little, and most of the jerks in the class aren’t big fans of me. I don’t think I’ve got it in me to outlast them all.” Ronald cocks his head at Casey. “And the same’s true of you, right? We’re both dead. So why not enjoy the time we’ve got left?”

After Casey doesn’t reply again, Ronald nods once more. “Right. So you agree. That’s good. Now…let’s get that skirt off.”

Ronald’s hand goes to Casey’s waist, and at this she finally replies. She screeches and wails and kicks with her good leg, but Ronald just shifts to the other side of her and starts to pull the skirt down to her thighs.

No. No way. You are not going to stand here and watch this happen. Never mind that Ronald’s got a gun in his hand.

You’re going to put a stop to this, no matter what.

You start walking towards Ronald and screaming Casey, your knuckles white around the handle of your hammer. You aren’t exactly a master of stealth, but the two of them are both rather preoccupied. You go unnoticed up until you reach Ronald and put a hand on his shoulder.

With all your strength, you pull backwards. Before Ronald has time to react, you’ve flung him off of Casey. He lands a couple feet back on his ass.

Ronald scrambles to his feet, and you walk over to him briskly. “It’s over, Ronald,” you say, trying to keep your voice even to hide how scared you are of the gun at Ronald’s side. “Leave now and I won’t have to hurt you.”

“Hurt me? C’mon, John, I thought you were a nice guy.” Ronald eyes your hammer apprehensively, then smiles toothily at you. You aren’t particularly tall, but you still tower over Ronald, who can’t be much above five feet. “Or are you just an asshole like all the others?”

“You’ve gone crazy, Ronald,” you say. “I want to help you, but I don’t think I can. But that doesn’t mean we have to fight. Turn around and run. I promise I won’t chase you.”

“God, you are such a dick.” Ronald rolls his eyes. “All I wanted was to not die a virgin. You, Casey, all you guys do is try and make sure I die unhappy. Well, I’m not standing for it. I ain’t going to be pushed around anymore just because I’m small. I’ve got something to even the odds now.”

Your eyes widen as you see Ronald’s hand raise, the black gun facing you, the same kind of gun that killed Cody-

But not the gun that’s going to kill you. Ronald’s faster than you, but you were ready to move before he was. Instants before the barrel faces you, you swing your hammer at Impe’s outstretched hand. The head of the weapon smacks against his wrist, and there’s a loud crackle as something breaks.

Literally milliseconds after your hammer makes contact, the gun goes off in Ronald’s hands.

The bullet is deafening; literally. You see Ronald screaming in pain, but you can only hear a low buzzing.

The gun flies out of Ronald’s hand, tumbling down the hill and out of sight. You don’t waste any time. You close your eyes and swing your other hand, punching Ronald in the face.

You think you got him in the cheek or temple, because he stumbles backwards, in the direction of the hill he came from. Ronald looks at you for a moment, his eyes filled with shock and pain and fear, before he bolts down the hill, probably to look for his gun.

You check yourself for bullets. In the movies, whenever someone is shot, it takes them a little while to figure it out. The bullet must have whizzed by under your arm. Looks like you got “lucky.” You’re pretty sure getting shot at in general is bad luck, but it would be worse luck if you got hit.

You run over to Casey, who has thankfully pulled her skirt back up. “Are you okay?” you ask.

She frowns, her lip quivering. “John…please don’t shout.”

Are you shouting? Kind of hard to tell, your ears are ringing really harshly. You decide to speak in a whisper, to be sure. “We need to run before he finds his gun. I don’t think you can walk with that leg, so I’m going to have to carry you.”

Casey doesn’t say anything as you turn around, offering your back to her. After a moment’s hesitation, she grabbed your shoulders. Taking care not to touch her bullet wound, you lift her legs and [ begin ](http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/battlestuck) to run as far and fast from Ronald as you can.

You feel blood trickle down your leg. It panics you for a bit before you realize its Casey’s, not yours. You want to stop and try to bandage her leg, but…now is not a good time.

It’s a good couple minutes before Casey says anything. When she does, it’s barely a whisper in your ear. “Thank you, John,” she says miserably. “Thank you for saving me…”

You don’t say anything. You have to focus on moving forward. You’re fairly strong, and Casey’s small, but you’ve never carried someone this long before.  
But then, you’ve never punched anyone before for real, either. Or broken anybody’s bones. You did pretty okay with both of those things.

What came over Ronald? Trying to do something that…that horrible? He wasn’t exactly a saint before all this, but you never imagined him trying something that atrocious.

It’s this game, you decide. It drove him crazy. Hell, you aren’t feeling particularly sane at the moment, either.

You see a big tree up ahead. It’s been three, four minutes and you haven’t heard a peep from Ronald. He isn’t chasing you, or if he was, he’s very far behind by now.

You circled around to the back of the tree and put Casey down at the base. Opening your duffel bag, you take a long, hard drink of water, draining half a bottle. You offer the rest to Casey, then pull the disinfectant and the small roll of adhesive bandages from your bag.

“Hold still,” you say to her as she empties the water bottle. “This might hurt a bit.”

Casey winces as you clean her wound and bandage it. You aren’t going to do anything fancy, because you have no idea how. But you’re pretty sure the basic bandage will stop the bleeding. Casey’s lucky, the bullet passed straight through her. At least, you think that’s a good thing. When you’re shot, you don’t want the bullet to stay in you, right?

You sit down, pouring a bit of water onto Casey’s leg to wash away the blood. She doesn’t move, or look at you, until you’re finished.

“So…are you going to kill me now?” she asks.

“Why would I do that?” you say, shocked. “Save you from Ronald and patch up your leg, just to kill you now? That seems like a big waste of effort, doesn’t it?”

“But you have to,” Casey sniffs. “Only one person can win the game. If you want to win, I have to die, right?”

You shake your head. “I don’t believe that. I bet there’s a way out of this game. Something Scratch and the other jerks who made it up won’t see coming. I’m not going to kill anyone. Besides, even if I did think that, how could I bring myself to kill an unarmed girl who’s already having such a shitty day?”

Casey’s eyes well up with tears again, and you decide that you should probably be awarded “Universe’s Most Insensitive Jerk” award for bringing Cody back into her mind. It’s time to change the subject as quickly as humanly possible.

“So, uh, what weapon did you get?” you ask the first question that came to your mind.

Casey jerks her head towards her duffel bag, which she somehow still has. “I-I never got a chance to check…go ahead.”

You crawl over and unzip the bag. All the stuff in it is identical to your stuff, except for something metallic at the bottom.

You reach in and pull out a pistol: an oldish, sleek looking gun. It came with a box of four magazines, all with eleven rounds, and a small manual for how to reload and fire it.

You flip through the manual, and the name strikes you as familiar. Walther… Walther…

“Oh!” you exclaim in joy and surprise. “This is James Bond’s gun!”

Casey just stares at you. You feel your cheeks warm a bit, then tuck the gun under your vest (after making sure the safety is on, of course.)

“Okay…so now what?” you ask Casey. “I think we’re safe here, but-”

You hear a rustling coming from the direction you came from. You feel a pit form in your throat. Ronald? You hope not, but better to be safe. You reach back under your vest and pull out the Walther.

“Stay quiet,” you hiss at Casey, who nods and shivers. You peek out from the side of the tree, but you don’t see anyone.

You [ step ](http://www.tumblr.com/blog/battlestuck) out from behind the tree, pistol at the ready. You scan the trees, but there’s no motion at all. Maybe the rustling was an animal or something. After a few more seconds of searching, you turn back and head to Casey.

“I didn’t find any-”

Something barrels into you the moment you round the tree, pushing its weight into your stomach. You grunt in pain and surprise as the person thwacks the back of your leg with what you think is a stick.

To your surprise, a sharp pain in your leg pulls your balance out from under you. You tumble to the ground, your attacker landing on top of you. They bring the stick up to hit you in the face, the branch above their pale hair…

You squint. “Rose?”

“John?”

Your attacker is Rose. Her eyes go wide and she immediately crawls off of you. “Oh god, I’m sorry. I heard Casey screaming and I assumed that-”

Rose stops, staring at the pistol in your hands and frowning. “You aren’t the one who wounded her leg, are you?”

“No, Rose,” said Casey. “John saved me from Ronald Impe. He was trying to…to…”

“Anyways,” you say, rubbing your stomach where Rose collided into you. “I got Ronald off of her and chased him away. Then I brought her here, patched up her leg, and then you attacked me.”

“I’m really sorry,” Rose repeats. “I assumed you were whoever was attacking Casey, and she didn’t bother to correct me.”

“Because you covered my mouth!” Casey protests.

Rose nods, clearly embarrassed. “Err, well, yes. Are you alright?”

“Fine,” you say, thankful that your head landed on some soft grass. “How did you find us?”

Rose pulls up her vest to reveal a strange boxy contraption tucked into her skirt. “My ‘weapon’. A collar tracker. I figured out where Casey was with this after she screamed, and then I thought she was probably one of the two dots that were moving. It’s too bad. I would have liked to see Ronald again.”

You see Rose’s fists clench and unclench. She sighs and raises the stick. It’s just a simple branch that Rose has sharpened a bit. “Not exactly the [ best ](http://www.tumblr.com/blog/battlestuck) self-defense tool,” she explains, “but I had to try and protect Casey. I made some noise on purpose, snuck around to Casey’s dot, and then waited for you to come back so I could ambush you.”

You blink twice. Rose went after someone who was probably bigger than herself and almost definitely carrying a gun with nothing but a sharp stick and her wits, all to protect Casey.

Not only that, it worked. She completely outmaneuvered you. If she had wanted to, she could have…err…

You sigh a sigh of relief when you remember Rose is in your side. She’s one of your best friends, after all. “So we’ve got a pistol, a collar tracker, and a hammer. We’re really building up an impressive arsenal, huh?” you sigh. “We need to find Dave, and Jade, and Vriska and Karkat, too.”

Rose raises an eyebrow. “Dave and Jade I understand. But Karkat? He’s not very useful in a fight, is he? And Vriska…I’m pretty sure she’ll be a good ally until somebody shows her their back.”

“That isn’t fair, Rose,” you protest. “Vriska’s a better person than you think, and she’s really tough and knows how to handle herself. I think she’d be a great ally.”

Rose shrugs. “The point is moot at the moment. Right now, what we need is a good semi-permanent camp. Something we can fortify. Close to water…but not too close. And secluded.”

“Right! I’ll go look for-” You wince as you put weight on the leg Rose thwacked. “…Ow.”

“You alright?”

“Fine, fine, I just…” You try to put weight on the leg again. “I think I need a couple minutes.”

Rose purses her lips. “Stay here and guard Casey. I’ll take the hammer and go scouting ahead. If I’m not back in an hour, come looking for me with the tracker.”  
You feel your eyes go wide. “Rose, isn’t that…isn’t that kind of dangerous?”

She gives you a look that makes you feel pretty stupid. “We’re currently on an island filled with our classmates, many of which want to kill us and all of which are armed. Everything is dangerous. And you need the pistol more than I do.”

Rose picks up the hammer, feeling the heft of it just as you did earlier. “I’ll be fine, John. Just focus on keeping Casey safe.”

You nod. Rose is acting a bit strange…the way she does during exams week, almost. Focused. Serious. Cold.

But at least she’s on your side.

END OF CHAPTER THREE


	4. Flashback One: Class A, Grade Eight School Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This is not chapter four. This is the first of several flashbacks to provide insight and background on the Battlestuck version of the Homestuck characters.

 

ROSE: John, is it absolutely necessary to eat so loudly?

JOHN: let me think. yes. yes, it is.

DAVE: rose did you even watch harley earlier

DAVE: she was stuffing infinite matter into her gullet

DAVE: it was freaking me the fuck out

JADE: D: dave! youre being a huge dick!!!

DAVE: i calls it like i sees it

ROSE: Is it physically possible for you two to stop for half a minute?

ROSE: The sun is setting, and I want to properly immortalize this moment.

JOHN: is there something in particular about this sunset?

ROSE: Not the sunset itself, no. I’m much more concerned with the circumstances surrounding the sunset.

DAVE: this is some sappy anne rice bullshit isnt it

DAVE: if i hear the world vampire leave your mouth rose i will drown us all in my tears

DAVE: just fucking test me

JOHN: watch out, he’s serious!

JOHN: heheheheh.

ROSE:…

JADE: no, rose, i get it!

JADE: assholes as john and dave might be, you want to remember the time you spent with us for as long as you can! :)

ROSE: Absolutely correct. I’m not sure if this is an estrogen thing, or if our male friends are just that cretinous.

JOHN: oh, relax, rose, we’re just messing with you. we didn’t mean anything by it.

DAVE: yeah uh

DAVE: no intent to offend i promise

ROSE: It’s alright. I had a good time today. I think you guys did too.

JADE: most definitely :)

JADE: it will be less fun when karkat kills you in your sleep, though, john.

JOHN: hey, he’s the one who left his trunks out in the open like that!

JOHN: i was basically obligated by law to put itching powder in them.

DAVE: well i guess murder is a good way to swing the pranksters gambit back to him

JADE: the school trip is always my favorite thing in the year, and this one was probably my favorite!!! :D

JADE: i hope we go to this lake again next year.

JOHN: they usually don’t repeat trips, right?

JOHN: who knows where we’ll go in ninth grade!

DAVE: so rose did you properly immortalize the moment

ROSE: The moment has been adequately preserved. It will live on for centuries, in much the same manner as a vampire.

DAVE: oh shit youve done it now

DAVE: get ready to fall victim to a flash flood courtesy of my eye sockets

JADE: hey, this wouldn’t be a bad time for it!

JOHN: …what?

ROSE: What?

DAVE: uh

JADE: I mean, think about it. i can’t think of a time i was happier than how i am now, with you guys!!! :D if i was going to die right now, id be okay with it.

ROSE: That’s sweet, in a terrifying way.

JOHN: wow, jade, you creeped out rose. i think there’s a trophy for that.

DAVE: can i take you on as a sensei

DAVE: teach me how to be that spooky oh wise one

JADE: oh, shut up, all of you!

JADE: shut up and let me enjoy the moment.

JOHN: i agree. let’s shut up now.

ROSE: Thirded. Dave?

DAVE: yeah fine whatever


	5. Only One Way Off this Island

Your name is Jade Harley, and you aren’t very worried.

Okay, truth be told, this is a very bad situation. Supremely bad, in fact. Literally one of the worst things that could possibly happen to you.

But there’s still hope. Scratch and the Empress didn’t see you or your friends coming, after all. John and Karkat, Rose and Dave, even people like Tavros and Feferi…they’d never hurt one of their classmates. You can’t even see some of the class’ meaner students, like Spencer Slick or Vriska Serket. trying to kill somebody.

Instead, every single member of the class is going to band together. All twenty-nine of you are going to think of a plan, overwhelm Scratch and his soldiers, and then…  
And then everything would be fine. There’d be other obstacles after that, but nothing that couldn’t be handled.

You’ve got a good feeling about all of this. This forest is quite a lot like the one your grandpa took you camping in. You feel right at home walking through it. You know how to conserve your food, how to start a fire, how to build a shelter and all the other important survival skills.

You even got lucky with your weapon: a Winchester rifle. It’s a gun you’ve fired before many times; civilian possession of firearms is illegal, but when you were small, you found out that your grandfather didn’t keep much stock in that law. He has a pretty extensive gun collection and, whenever he took you camping, you shot some guns with him deep in the forest.

What this means is that you’re just about the only student on this island with firearm training, probably. Even if one or two students get desperate and try and hurt someone, you’ve got a bigger gun than they do, guaranteed. They’ll think twice before starting any trouble so long as Jade Harley’s around!

All of a sudden, you hear a voice in the distance. Maybe twenty or twenty-five meters away, a raspy male voice that is…crying?

You proceed ahead cautiously. You flick the safety of the gun off, just in case, and take stock of nearby cover. But as soon as the figure comes into view, you relax. It’s just Male Student Number Nine Stephen Liche.

Stephen is a quiet, laid-back guy who doesn’t really do or say much to anyone. He smiles a lot, but you never thought there was any particular joy behind his grins. There was always a kind of sadness in his eyes, so you tried to make friends with him several times in the past.

Unfortunately, you’d have had better luck befriending a coma patient. Stephen has always been an absolute stone wall to talk to, barely saying a word no matter how hard you tried to engage him. You never gave up, per se, but you eventually realized the futility of what you were doing and stopped trying quite so hard. You still said hello to him in the hallways, though.

Steve’s a pretty average looking guy in every quality but his height. He’s several inches above average, about five foot and either ten or eleven inches. Physically, he reminds you of Dave: long, thin arms, bony legs, and sharply pointed features. His scraggly dark hair goes down to his shoulders, though it’s got some grass and dirt in it now. He must have tripped and fell at some point.

At the moment, he’s sitting against a tree, bawling his eyes out. It’s a sorry sight. At the very least, he has the sense to try and cover his mouth, but his moaning is so loud that it isn’t doing him much good. Poor Stephen: he must have given up hope. Let’s see if you can change that.

“Stephen?” you say calmly. “It’s Jade. I’m here to talk.”

He looks up at you with red, swollen eyes and yelps. “Ah! Oh god, y-you’re going to shoot me…” he manages between sobs.

“What? Stephen, I’d never hurt anyone.” You let go of the Winchester with one hand and let the barrel touch the ground. “Least of all someone who’s crying so hard! I’m actually kind of offended you thought I would do something like that.”

“B-but you have to, right? It’s the rules of the g-game.”

You smile widely at him. You’re so glad you’re the one who got to Stephen first, and not someone else who might have tried to hurt him. “No, Steve, that’s the rules of the game they want us to play. That doesn’t mean we have to do what they say!”

Stephen sniffs loudly, wiping his nose with his sleeve. “A…are you serious?”

“Yeah! We’re going to round up everyone, and then we’re going to figure out what to do.” You smile, your thoughts flashing to Cody. Nobody else is going to end up like him, especially not on your watch. You make a mental note to give Casey a big hug as soon as you see her.

Stephen doesn’t look very convinced of what you’re saying, but that’s okay. He’s stopped crying, which is a start. “Come on, Stephen,” you say, offering him your free hand. “No use sitting around and crying. I’ll keep you safe, don’t worry!”

Tentatively, his hand trembling, Stephen accepts your hand and you help him up. “O-okay, Jade…whatever you say,” he shows you a very slight smile. It isn’t much of a stride forward, but progress is progress. You’ll take what you can get.

There’s a rustling in the brush about ten meters away. It’s someone pretty light-footed, if it took you that long to hear them. “Hey!” you immediately call, startling Stephen. “Is someone there in the bushes? It’s Jade Harley, I want to talk!”

The person doesn’t respond, but you hear their light footsteps coming closer and closer. After a few moments, Dave Strider emerges from the brush.

“Hey Jade,” he says neutrally. “And also Stephen Liche for some reason.”

“Dave!” You rush over to Dave and wrap your arms around him into a bone-crushing hug. He wheezes slightly, but he also returns the embrace.

“It’s good to see you,” he says, frowning. “I was worried. Looks like you’re packing enough firepower to handle five or six guys, though.”

“What did you get?” you ask, separating from Dave and peering up at him. You didn’t notice it immediately, but there’s a long, black object strapped to his back by a red rope.

Dave wraps his hand around the tip of the weapon and pulls it up several inches. You gasp at the glint of steel. Dave’s been assigned a katana.

“I figured Scratch would give the coolest weapon to the class’ biggest badass,” he says. “Unfortunately, it looks like he mixed it up and gave it to me instead of Rose.” He returns the thin blade to its sheath.

“That reminds me,” you chuckle, “we have to find Rose! And John! And Karkat! And Terezi! And Tavros! And everybody!”

“Everybody? You sure that’s a good idea?” Dave peers from under his sunglasses at you. “I don’t trust every one of them. A few might be playing this stupid game.”

“Who would be doing that?” You can’t think of anyone. Nobody in the class would be willing to kill someone else in it, right?

“Probably the guy who’s pointing a gun at us,” says Dave through grit teeth.

  
  
You turn to face Stephen, who has, in fact, pulled out a pistol. He’s pointing it straight at you. He’s also trembling, but at this range, that wouldn’t make him miss.  
“Steve,” you say slowly, “what are you-”

“Shut up!” he shouts. “Just shut the fuck up, Harley. I’m not going to let you get me killed. There’s only one way off this island, and that’s by k-killing everyone else on it.”  
Oh no. This is very bad. You thought you had gotten through to Stephen, but…

“Well then?” asks Dave. “Why haven’t you shot yet?”

“I will! You just watch, Strider!” Stephen is shouting every word now.

“I doubt it. You don’t have the balls to pull that trigger.” Dave’s voice is cold and smooth, like ice. You’ve never heard him speak like that before. “I’m surprised you’ve managed to lift the gun that high. It’s got to weigh, what, two pounds? Three?”

You feel something. Your hand is still on Dave’s chest, and you realize that his heart is beating so hard that it’s about to pop out of his chest. His voice might be calm, but Dave is scared out of his mind. He’s just doing a good job of hiding it.

You actually agree with what Dave said. You don’t think Stephen will shoot…at least, you hope he won’t. “Steve, just put the gun down,” you say as slowly and calmly as you can. “Everything is going to be okay.”

“You’ve got that last part right, at least,” Stephen snarls. “Soon as I kill the two of you and every other kid on this island, everything is going to be okay.”

Shit. He isn’t budging. The longer you wait, the more likely he is to do something stupid. You sigh loudly. “At least turn the safety off.”

“What?”

“The safety on your gun,” you explain. “You know what that is, right? Have you ever fired a gun before?”

“Of course I haven’t,” he says confusedly. “It’s against the law.”

“Okay, well, guns have a thing called a safety. When it’s on, the gun won’t shoot, even if it’s loaded. That’s to make sure it doesn’t go off by accident. Yours is on.”  
“O-oh.” Stephen frowned, staring at his gun. “Where is the safety?”

“On the side, near the trigger. Should be a little circular switch.” You smile cheerily at Stephen. “See? We’re friends. I don’t think you’ll shoot me. Why else would I tell you how to use your gun?”

Steve doesn’t answer. After a moment, he just pulls his gun back, inspecting the trigger like you said. “Is it…this?” he asks, flicking the switch.

In a flash, you kick the muzzle of your gun up and catch it with your free hand. You draw your left foot back, rest the butt of the rifle against your shoulder, and point it at Stephen’s gun arm.

“Probably,” you say, closing your right eye. “At this point, it doesn’t really matter to me. You pointed a gun at me, Steve. That’s not something friends do to one another. Drop the gun, or I make you drop it.”

Steve’s eyes go wide, and he lets go of the pistol. You aren’t sure if he did it to comply with you or if he was really surprised, though. Maybe both.

“Dave, get the gun.”

“Uh…sure, Harley.” Dave walks out from behind you, careful not to get in the way of your shot, and closes in on the frozen Stephen. “This was a dumb-ass move on your part, Liche,” he says. “Nobody’s got more boomstick know-how than Jade. She’s a sweetie, though. She isn’t going to kill you.”

As Dave gets close, his long arm darts out and grabs Liche’s collar. “That doesn’t mean that I won’t slice you open and show you your guts,” he growls to the petrified Stephen. “Get out of here. Next time I see you, I kill you.”

  
With a scared nod, Stephen picks up his bag and runs off, his footsteps becoming fainter and fainter until you can’t hear them at all. Only then do you lower the Winchester, taking a deep breath. “Oh god, that was so scary!” you exclaim.

Dave wipes his forehead of sweat. “Yeah, tell me about it,” he pants. “I nearly passed out. ‘Show you your guts?’ Like I could do that to someone, even a sleaze like Liche. Seriously, Jade, what were you doing with that guy?”

“I thought I could trust him,” you murmur, shaking your head. “I guess I was wrong.”

“Damn right you were wrong. But hey, it’s not all bad.” Dave leans over and picks up the pistol. “Now we both have guns. And, more importantly, we’re together.”

Dave walks over to you and offers you his fist. “Motherfuckers beware: Strider and Harley have hooked up. Fuck with us at your own risk.”

You giggle and complete the fist bump. You were feeling a bit sick after what just happened, but Dave has always known how to make you feel better. “That’s right. Master markswoman Jade and her wisecracking ninja sidekick Dave. Once we find all the others, Doctor Scratch better watch his back.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Let’s go.” Dave tucks the pistol into his pants. Then he pulls it back out, turns the safety on, and returns it. “Wait a minute…sidekick?”

 

***

You are now Stephen Liche, and you’re fucked.

You can’t believe how easily Harley and Strider outwitted you. Granted, you weren’t exactly thinking clearly at the time. You’re still not thinking very clearly, but at least clearly enough to know that you aren’t thinking clearly. You think.

You’ve still got your duffel bag, but that’s it. If you run into someone with a gun, or someone with a knife, or even just someone bigger than you, then you’ll…you’ll…  
You don’t know what you’ll do.

At the moment, you’re running as fast as you can. You wish you could go back, wish you could apologize to Jade, wish she would give you your gun back…

But you can’t. Strider said it himself: he’ll gut you if he sees you again. You don’t want to die. You don’t want to die. You don’t want to die. You don’t want to-  
Suddenly, your balance leaves you as your foot hits something hard and heavy. You fall to the ground with a thud, landing on your chest.

You lie there for a moment, checking to see what tripped you: a rock. Just an ordinary rock. You start laughing, harder than you expected you would. Just a rock.  
“Is something funny?” says a deep, harsh male voice from behind you. A chill runs from the base of your neck to the bottom of your spine and you stand up as quickly as you can. Oh, shit.

You turn to face the boy. Oh, shit.

It’s Equius Zahhak. Male Student Number Four Equius Zahhak. Biggest guy in the class Equius Zahhak. Huge, muscle-bound, unfriendly goalie Equius Zahhak. Bull-necked, square-jawed Equius Zahhak.

Bow and quiver strapped to his back Equius Zahhak. Blood-splattered Equius Zahhak.

“You look rattled, Mister Liche,” says Equius calmly, his eyes hidden behind his dark glasses. “Like you’ve recently escaped some sort of danger. Am I wrong?”

God, you hate that stilted, overly formal speech of his. It’s freakishly creepy, and Equius does not need to be made creepier. “I-I’ve got a gun,” you lie. “Stay aw-away from me.”

“A gun?” Equius doesn’t budge. “Show me.”

You feel tears well up in your eyes. It wasn’t a great lie, you know, but you had to do something.

Equius nods, as if his suspicions were confirmed. “You aren’t armed. That goes well with a theory I’ve formed: I’m not the first of our classmates you’ve encountered since you left the classroom. That person disarmed you, didn’t they?”

You don’t see any point in lying to him. Maybe if you do everything he says, Equius won’t hurt you. Slowly, you nod.

“Troubling. Who was it?”

“Strider and Harley. She’s got a rifle, he’s got a sword…and they have my pistol now.”

“I see. It’s disconcerting that they’re so well-armed, but nothing we won’t be able to handle.” Equius nods his head at you slightly. “Thank you for the information, Mister Liche.”

“Yeah…yeah, sure, Equius, no problem.” You lick your dry lips. He doesn’t seem to want to hurt you! Maybe he’s going to let you go! Hold on… “Wait, did you say ‘we’?”

The tips of Equius’ eyebrows are visible from behind his shades for a brief moment. “Ah…slip of the tongue. Well, now that the literal cat is out of the proverbial bag…Nepeta, could you come out, please?”

You turn your head as a short, stout girl emerges from the brush. Nepeta isn’t quite as creepy as Equius, but she won’t be winning any prizes for normalcy, either. She always wears that absurd hat with the cat face on it, and she’s rarely not hanging around Equius, who is twice her size. The two are inseparable, but are by all accounts not dating.

There’s something very wrong with Nepeta. Her eyes, wide to begin with, are manic and dilated, giving her a very unsettling stare. Her posture is hunched with her knees bent, like a predator about to strike. An absent grin decorates her face, and she’s humming happily to herself.

Adorning each of her hands is a set of long, thin claws. It’s almost like she has three knives strapped to each of her hands. When she sees you, she smiles with child-like glee.

“Nepeta is a…fragile person,” Equius says sadly, shaking his head. “This environment is not suited to someone of her disposition, and I fear it has caused her some immediate and profound psychological damage. Although,” he says with snort, “that might make her a better ‘player’ overall. She listens to me, in any case. Is that correct, Nepeta?”

“Mmm-hmm!” she exclaims, her voice chirpy. “Hiya, Stephen! How’s the game been for you so far?”

You look back and forth between two of the class weirdos. “B-bad…” you manage.

“About to get worse, I’m afraid,” sniffs Equius. “This is nothing personal, Stephen. If I had a lethal weapon, I’d use it, but I’m afraid that I have no idea how to fire an arrow. We’ll do our best not to let you linger.”

You feel your blood start to pump faster and faster through your body. “What are you saying?”

“Nepeta,” Equius says with a pause, “kill him.”

And Nepeta is charging at you faster than you expected, claws extended, and you scramble to your feet and try to run, but then out of nowhere is Equius, and how can someone that big be that fast, and he throws himself at you, flattening you, and you feel his knee press against your chest, taking away your air, and his big sweaty hand is over your face, and you can’t move, and-

  
  
Equius voice booms from above you, “It’ll be quick, Stephen. We’re very sorry. Go ahead, Nepeta.”

“Don’t worry, Steve!” you hear her happily exclaim. “Just think of it as a shot, the kind you’d get at the doctors! Bye-bye!”

You try and squirm away, but then you feel something slide into your exposed neck, something long and sharp and hot like the sun. You open your mouth and try to scream, but you can only taste blood. Your body starts to convulse, and everything starts to get very bright and then, suddenly, quiet.

Your name is Equius Zahhak, and you have just helped kill someone.

With a sigh, you stand up from his body while Nepeta withdraws her claw. She had pinpoint precision. Her left and right claws went through Stephen’s jugular veins, while her middle claw ripped through his windpipe. Death came to him quickly: maybe ten or fifteen seconds in total.

Blood begins to pool out of the two side holes, and Stephen’s convulsions stop. You didn’t know Stephen well, but he didn’t deserve this. This was necessary, though. You didn’t have a choice in the matter.

You turn your back on the body and sling Liche’s abandoned duffel bag over your shoulder.

“Let’s go, Nepeta,” you say.

She nods enthusiastically, wiping her right claws on the grass. “Kay! Where to?"

You begin to traipse off, and she follows. “To wherever the twenty-six remaining students are hiding,” you say. “Where else?”

END OF CHAPTER FOUR


	6. Can't Think of a Much Better Ally

You are now Rose Lalonde.

The forest is getting thicker and thicker the farther you head into it, which is good. Ideally, your campsite would be in a location with plenty of cover.

Since you left the classroom, you’ve kept your eyes open. Very few dots appeared on your collar detector, though. John and Casey were the first other players you’ve seen since the game started.

Did you think players? You meant students. As you walk, following the sound of running water in the distance, you take a mental stock of each student in your class. How dangerous they are, how likely they are to try and kill you if they meet, and whether or not you could kill them.

You skip the obvious exceptions: Kanaya would never lay a finger on anyone except in self-defense. Dave couldn’t hurt a girl if his life depended on it, and you don’t think Jade would ever try anything against one of her friends. John and Casey are bigger dangers to themselves then they are to you.

Everybody else, though, is fair game. Nepeta Leijon, your fellow feline enthusiast. Equius Zahhak and Karkat Vantas and Desmond Droog, some of your academic rivals. Your fellows in Student Government, Feferi Peixes and Terezi Pyrope. All of them, plus eighteen other students. You have to be ready to flee from, fight, and if necessary, kill them all.

You finally reach the stream, which turned out to be deeper and wider than you expected. The water is clear and brisk, and you can tell it’d go down to your waist if you stepped in it. You definitely want to set up camp somewhere near here, where you have an unlimited supply of water. That way you can conserve your plastic bottles in case of an emergency.

You drop to your knees and pull the canteen from your duffel bag. You dip it in the stream, filling it with cool, clear spring water.

You then feel a chill run down your neck, all the way to the base of your spine. There was a noise behind you, twigs being crushed underfoot. You pull John’s hammer from the hem of your skirt and turn around, immediately jumping to your feet.

Your heart sinks as the source of the noise comes into view. It’s Female Student Number Fourteen Olga Grey, better known by her nickname “Ogre”. The moniker, you believe, was bestowed by Dave, but nearly everyone called her that. Not to her face, though.

You hate to think it, but the name’s fitting. Olga is very tall and strong, with thickly coiled muscles in her arms and powerful legs about as thick as your torso. She’s easily the biggest girl in the class, but only a fool would think that she was unhealthily obese.

Her shoulder-length black hair has several twigs and leaves sticking out of it, and there’s a tear in her vest. In her hands is what you can only describe as a club; a thick brown stick as thick as your forearm. In your hands, it’d be heavy and unwieldy, but Olga is holding it as if it was weightless.

Strangely enough, neither her dangerously powerful build nor her weapon (which could very easily be used to bludgeon someone to death,) were what caught your eye. You instead were drawn to her plain face, and not her strong jaw and too-big nose. You found Olga’s dark pupils and reddened irises, and you realize that the girl has recently been crying. Hard.

“Olga,” you say slowly. “We don’t have to fight.”

“Shut up,” Olga spits, her voice shaky, before taking a deep, sharp breath. “You talk too much, Lalonde. Shut up.”

You curse the volume of the stream. It drowned out the sound of Olga’s approach, which was got you in this situation. You can’t go into the stream, and you doubt you could successfully run away. Fighting would be futile. You need to try and stall for time. It’s your only hope.

“What do you mean I talk too much?” you ask. “We barely speak.”

“Exactly. None of you bitches have much to say to me, do you? Because I’m big and ugly, not a skinny little cunt.” Olga’s knuckles tighten around the club, turning white. “I know how you talk. How you-how you call me that nickname.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never did such a thing.” That’s the truth, but not the whole truth. You’ve sat there and listened while other people did exactly what Olga was accusing them of.

It was wrong, you knew it, but it didn’t seem like a big deal at the time. People talk. Try and stop them, and they’ll just talk about you. You never thought it’d end with something like this.

“Yeah, of course you say that now,” Olga sneered, giggling hysterically. “Now that I’m about bash that dainty little head of yours in. Then we’ll see who the pretty one is.”

You grip your hammer even tighter. It’s terribly puny compared to Olga’s mace, but then, you’re terribly puny compared to Olga.

  
  
“Olga, I have friends,” you say stoically. “Friends with guns. If you stay to kill me, they will arrive and he will shoot you dead.”

“Really? What friends would these be?” asks Olga, taking another step towards you.

“John Egbert. He has a pistol, and he’s willing to use it. You touch me, and you’ll have him to contend with.” You once read that the best lies are the ones that are based in truth, which this one definitely is. All of that is completely true. You, of course, have omitted the fact John is fifteen minutes’ walk from here.

Olga seems to be buying it, though. Her eyes go to the direction where you came from. “Egbert…you got him on your team?”

“I do.”

Olga laughs again, a laugh too quick and too high for someone of her size and stature. Tears well up in the corners of her eyes. The biggest, toughest girl in the class is scared out of her mind, you can tell.  
That is very bad.

“Of course!” Olga declares. “O-of course you’ve got a boy protecting you! Hell, I bet e-e-every other girl on the island has one by now! Everyone but me. Well, f-fuck that. I don’t need a knight in shining armor. I’ll kill every skinny bitch on this island, and every boy who wants to get into their pants, too.”

Olga starts to advance again, but this time her advance is inexorable. She’s going to reach you in seconds. “Starting with you, Lalonde.”

You feel a tremor run through your body. Nowhere to run. You’ll have to stand and fight, which probably means you’re about to die.

“Hey.”

Olga turns to face the voice that just spoke from behind her. Coming from the brush is a white-haired girl you recognize as Girl Number Three Pandora Merriett.

Pandora is an enigma. She transferred into class one day without explanation and proceeded to talk to absolutely no one. Not because she’s shy, you don’t think. She just doesn’t have much to say to her classmates.

She has an exotic beauty to her, you’ve always thought. Her hair color is the color of snow, even whiter than your blonde locks. Her bangs cover a sizable forehead, making her dark, dangerous eyes contrast even more than if they were only on the backdrop of her pale skin.

Her nose is long and slight and has a slight bend to it that makes you think it was broken at least once in the past. Her lips are full and almost constantly pursed shut. All of this is leads to a long, slender neck.  
Her body is athletic, which is odd because she doesn’t play a sport (or do any extra-curriculars, for that matter.) You’ve noted strong, shapely calves in her skirt before, as well as a not insubstantial amount of muscle on her arms when she wore her short-sleeved summer uniform earlier in the month.

You always thought of Pandora as an intriguing mystery, but right now, the only mystery that concerns you is her intentions. In her hand, gripped tightly, is a machete. The curved blade is almost as long as Pandora’s whole arm, but she’s holding it comfortably. Just by looking at her confident posture and focused expression, you come to a realization.

This is someone who knows exactly how to play this game. Better than John, better than Olga, and yes, better than you. And she’s, at the moment, your only hope to live through Olga’s assault.

Olga snarls at Pandora. “What do you want, new girl? I’ll get to you next, you just hold on.”

Pandora’s response is nonverbal. She ducks her head, holds her machete perpendicular to her body, and charges in for Olga.

Olga snarls and waits for Pandora to enter her range before swinging for the white-haired girl’s head, trying to cave it in. Pandora sidesteps the swing, and it looks like Olga put a bit too much power into it.  
The larger girl involuntarily steps forward, and Pandora capitalizes on her loss of balance. The next thing you know, the transfer student is at Olga’s side, machete raised.

The thing you know after that, the machete is buried into Olga’s neck like an executioner’s blade.

There’s a dull thunk which you’re pretty sure is the sound of the machete slicing through Olga’s spinal cord. Olga shivers, then her head falls to the ground.

Her body follows half a second later.

Pandora turns to you before leaning over, wiping her blade on Olga’s blouse. The weapon is covered in viscera and scraps of flesh, and even after Pandora wipes it, the steel blade is still dyed red. In addition, a copious amount of blood has splattered Pandora’s face and the front of the uniform. You gulp hard. Pandora just dispensed of Olga as easily as someone might crush an insect or brush some dust off their shoulder.

And now she’s turned to you, her machete dripping. Her face emotionless, Pandora takes a step towards you.

Then Pandora’s face scrunches up, like she’s smelled something foul. She looks down at her blood-spattered clothes. “Ewww…” she moans. “I did not think this through, clearly…”

You don’t say anything. Pandora is clearly a more capable fighter than Olga by a wide margin. You haven’t been saved. You’ve just been faced with an opponent far more dangerous than the previous one. Rushing her with the hammer is a good way to get turned into shish kabob. Judging from the agility she just showed, Pandora could easily chase you down if you tried to run away. Your only choice is to wait and see if she provides you with an opening.

In all likelihood, you’re about to die.

“Rose, right?” Pandora asks. “Rose Lalonde? Hey, I don’t think we’ve ever spoken at length before. Sorry we had to have our first real conversation under these circumstances.”

“Are you toying with me?” you ask stiffly, trying to hide the fact that your leg is shaking. “If you are going to try to kill me, go ahead, but don’t play games with me. That’s just rude.”

“Kill you?” asks Pandora, aghast. “Why would I-oh. Oh! You think that I’m-” she chuckles nervously. “No, I killed, um, Olga because she had lost it. You saw that. Nothing to do but make it quick and painless. You seem pretty not-crazy to me.”

“Do I, now?” You don’t buy it.  Pandora just killed someone, rather brutally you might add, and she’s way too casual about it. There’s something wrong with her. The moment you drop your guard around her is the moment she’ll choose to strike.

“You don’t trust me,” says Pandora thoughtfully. “Which sucks. I mean, I get it, it just sucks. I trust you.”

“Why would you? You don’t know me. I could skin cats in my spare time, for all you know.”

“You could, but I’d probably know if you did.” Pandora clears her throat uncomfortably. “I, uh, watched you pretty carefully back at school. You’re a decent person. A little spooky, but I can’t think of a much better ally.”

“An ally?” you ask incredulously. “Did you decide on this partnership before or after you decapitated one of my classmates?”

“It was before I saved your life,” says Pandora, her voice level. “I didn’t want to hurt Olga, but I didn’t really see any other choice. It was either this or let her kill you.” She doesn’t sound upset or even sarcastic. Just…nervous.

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re pretty composed about that.”

“No, I’m freaking out.” Pandora raises her free hand and shows you that it’s actually quivering. “I’ll have nightmares about what I just did. But I also know that panicking will get me nowhere but killed. I’ll have time to cry and scream later.”

“Hmm.” You study Pandora intently. Her body language agrees with the words coming from her mouth. She looks genuinely uncomfortable with all the gore she’s been splashed with. “…Okay. What do you want?”  
“You’ve been traveling with John Egbert, right?” Pandora’s cheeks flush and she looks down sheepishly. “I…kinda sorta listened to your conversation with Olga.”

“I am. I told him to stay while I scouted ahead,” you say. “When I found a good place to camp, I’d come back and we’d go there together.”

“Why not just move together? Traveling alone is dangerous. You shouldn’t do it if you can help it.”

You say nothing. Telling Pandora about Casey is a risk that you don’t want to take.

She sighs. “I get it. You don’t trust me. Here.” She lets her machete clatter to the floor. She then takes three steps away from you, and gets onto her knees. “Take my sword.”

You hesitate. This might be a trap. Somehow. With your hammer at the ready, you approach cautiously, not taking your eyes off Pandora. She’s sitting with her arms at her sides, her hands extended in a “well?” gesture.

 

You feel the cold steel under your foot, so you scoop up the blade. The handle is wooden, and the blade is almost two feet long. It’s probably the most lethal object you’ve ever touched.

“I don’t think you’ll hurt me, Rose,” says Pandora, though she doesn’t sound extremely confident about that. “Take me to John. Give me a chance, that’s all I’m asking.”

“And why should I?” you wonder aloud. “Why shouldn’t I take your head?”

“Because I’m a thousand times better with that machete than you are,” she replies. “And once I kill people who want to hurt you and your friends, you can kill me. Sound good?”

Hmm. You don’t trust Pandora, not by a long shot, but at the same time, you don’t think she’s going to run you through the moment you give her the opportunity. And she can fight, very well…

“Alright,” you breathe. “You want a chance? You’ve got one. But you try something, anything, and I will flay the skin from your body. I hope that’s clear.”

“Transparent.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

You’ve got the sinking feeling that Pandora isn’t actually threatened by you.

Yes, you have the machete and the hammer, but she’s so calm about it. It makes you think that if you try to kill the transfer student, it’d be you who ends up with your guts all over the floor.

She isn’t even very coordinated. Pandora’s tripped over three rocks and a tree root in the last ten minutes of walking. You commented on it, and Pandora’s cheeks turned slightly pink. “Yeah, I’m…pretty clumsy, actually,” she said, ducking a low-hanging branch.

“You’re the best female athlete in our class,” you point out. Oh, Olga Grey is…was stronger, and Simone Frost ran faster, but any girl in Class A could tell you that the volleyball or basketball team with Pandora on it would win nine times out of ten.

“I get kind of focused when I compete. Right now, I feel pretty at ease, so I’m not really-ow!-not really paying much attention to little stuff.” Pandora pauses. “But thank you for the compliment.”

You continue to walk, keeping your eyes on Pandora while closely listening for any suspicious noises. Fortunately, you return to the tree where you hooked up with John and Casey without incident.

The two kids are still there. John is reclining against the tree, his gun whipping up at Pandora. Casey’s hiding behind the tree, her head peeking out as she observes.

“Hey Rose,” says John breathlessly. “I was wondering who that second dot on the radar was. Turns out it’s...Panorama?”

“Close enough.” Your traveling companion smiles softly. “Hello, John. Could you...put that gun down? It’s making me uncomfortable.”

“Sorry,” he says. “I don’t have anything against you, but I don’t trust you, either. You're covered in blood, after all. What's up with that?”

“She saved my life,” you say. “I was attacked by Olga Grey. She...killed her.”

Egbert's eyes widen. “And you brought her back here?”

“John,” says Pandora slowly, “do you know how to use that gun?”

“I read the manual,” John says. “I have a couple words I wanted to ask you about, Rose...”

“I know how to fight,” replies Pandora, her voice reminding you of the voice Kanaya sometimes accidentally slips into when she’s talking to someone about an obscure vampire novel. “Very well. I can shoot and punch and slice and stab better than any of you. Rose can vouch for that.”

“It was…impressive,” you mutter. “Even with that gun trained on her, I’m still not sure how safe we are around our new friend.”

“Huh? That sounds…really cool.” John strokes his chin, and you take notice of the fact that his shoulders have gotten broader since the last time you checked. “Where did you learn all this stuff, Panini?”

“Well…sure,” Pandora bites her lip and smiles sheepishly. “We’re friends, so I can tell you guys. This isn’t my first time playing one of these games. It’s actually my second.”

It's your eyes' turn to widen. You didn’t expect that, not at all, but…it makes sense. Pandora had tried to get out of the bus while the rest of you were falling asleep because she knew what was about to happen. She had transformed in mysteriously, despite being over a year older than the rest of the class. She handled the machete like someone who had used one before.

“So…” John says, trying to put the pieces together, “that…that means…”

“That Olga wasn’t the first person you’ve killed,” whispers Casey from behind the tree.

Pandora slowly nods. “Hey Casey, nice to see you can talk. You’re right. Olga was my…fourth. Well, fifth, but one was a mercy kill, I don’t count it.”

You feel a hard lump in your throat. Four murders in quick succession, under the law, made Pandora a mass murderer. Four in quick succession and a fifth later on made her a serial killer. In any other context, she’d be tried in court as an adult and then hooked up to an electric chair.

In the Program, she was celebrated.  
  
“You do look a little familiar, now that I think about it,” you say, trying to remember the Program from two years ago. You do your best to block out what you’re forced to watch.  “I know a girl won, but she didn’t look a lot like you.”

“My face was shattered pretty badly near the end of the game,” said Pandora, touching her nose. “Plus both my arms, my right leg, three ribs, both collarbones, and my skull. I was in the hospital for…nearly two years. That’s why I’m in you guys’ class. I’m seventeen in a class of fifteen year olds.”

“Wow…” John scrunched up his face, as he was wont to do when he was thinking. “And you ended up the game again? That’s got to be, like, the worst luck ever!”

“I’m of a similar opinion, which is why I’ve got a deal for the three of you. You get an attack dog, the game’s best fighter, on your team. You also get my knowledge, all of it, even stuff no one wants you to know.” At that, Pandora put her hand to her collar and wiggled it a little, looking at you and John and Casey to see if you understand.

You got it. John didn’t. “So are you saying that you know how to-”

“Survive, yes,” you say in a voice that John can easily recognize by now as a cue to shut up. “She can help us survive. And what is your price for these services?”

“It’s really simple.” Pandora reaches into her blouse and pulls out an envelope. “See, in the last game I had a friend…my best friend, actually. He started writing a letter to his parents during the game, but he didn’t make it home to deliver it. I’ve been keeping it safe since. Unfortunately, where his parents live is classified information. I can’t find them, no matter how hard I try. My only condition for my service is this: if I die during this game, one of you three has to get this letter to them.”

You raise an eyebrow. Pandora sounds sincere, but at the same time, the whole thing sounds too good to be true. “And what’s to stop you from killing us the moment we trust you?” you say, drumming your fingers against the machete.

“She won’t,” says Casey, finally. “I trust her, Rose. And besides…we need her. We need Pandora’s help if we want to survive.”

“I think she’s on the up-and-up, too!” exclaims John, lowering the gun. “She saved you, after all, and that makes her okay in my book.”

Pandora turns to face you. “I can leave now, if you want me gone,” she says, looking you in the eyes. After a pause, you walk over and present Pandora’s machete to her.

“Okay,” you say. “Okay, Pandora, you’re in.”

“Thanks!” Without warning, Pandora pulls you into a bone-crushing hug. You’re so surprised that you actually drop the machete. “Both of you come here and join in!”  
  
A few seconds later, John and Casey have joined the hug. You can’t help but smile. “Easy, guys,” you say. “You might stop my little black heart if you keep this up.”

Eventually, the hug disperses, and Pandora reaches into her bag to retrieve a sheath for her machete. “One last thing, if we’re going to travel together,” she says as she puts the machete over her back. “I don’t like my first name. Or my last name. If it isn’t too much trouble, don’t call me either of them.”

“What should we call you then?” asks John.

“My friends at my old school called me by my initials,” she replies, smiling. “So you guys can just call me PM.”

END OF CHAPTER FIVE


	7. Cock the Hammer, Pull the Trigger

Your name is Feferi Peixes, and you’re in control of the situation.

Class President is a thing that most people try to do because they want to get into a good university. That’s important to you, but far from your main reason. You did it because you really truly care about your classmates. Okay, some of them are a little bit… _psychotic_ , but on the whole, you think they’re really great people!

You’ve done your best to help them however you could, because that’s what a good leader and friend does. That was all so much practice, though. This is your moment. Your chance.

Your classmates are, right now, at each other’s throats. It’s naive to assume they aren’t. A distant gunshot rang out just minutes ago, and who knows how many fights have gone on with melee weapons?

You know a thing or two about the politics of the classroom. The others, they’re confused and desperate right now, but they listen to you. You’ve never steered them wrong before, and you don’t plan to start now. You’re going to unify the class behind you, and after that, you’ll figure out how to escape this island. There are some smart kids in Class A: Sollux can figure out how to disable the collars, Rose can figure out an escape route, Karkat can manage the supplies…

That is, assuming that they survive. You aren’t an idiot. There are kids who will try to kill you on sight. Luckily, you’ve watched every single program for the last fifteen years. The first people to die are the overly aggressive and the ones that choke and go into the fetal position. Only the savvy and clever are alive after that.

You hate to treat your classmates’ lives like algebra homework, but that’s how it is. Either some of you survive, or none of you do. Trying to save everyone is too idealistic, even for you.

That’s why you’re hiding out here, in town hall. It’s a big, wooden building with a ton of exits. Anyone walking on this floor will make sounds that you can hear from just about anywhere. You’ve been here since game start, drawing up plans in your head and munching on some dried fruit.

At your side is your weapon, a two-ended trident about half as tall as you are. It folds in half, which is the only way they fit it into your duffel bag. Every single game session, in tribute to the Empress, has had a trident assigned to one of the players. It’s the only weapon so big that they have to make it collapsible.

You don’t plan to use it, but if you have to, it’s a great weapon for you. Spears and similar weapons require a lot of leg strength, and you’ve been swimming since before you could walk. Also, being so long, it’s going to extend the reach of your unremarkable height. Yes sir, short of a gun, the trident is the best possible weapon for you.

There’s a thump as one of the ground floor doors opens, and you feel a shiver run up your spine. Stay calm, you tell yourself. You’ve been anticipating this. Get up and get out.

Damn it, you wish it hadn’t been so soon! It’s been less than six hours since the game began, if the clock on the wall is accurate. You thought you could hide out here for at least a day. Guess not.

You walk slowly towards the stairs, your shoes in your hand, doing your best not to make any noise. You can be pretty light-footed when you need to, even on stairs. While the person below (probably a boy, judging from how loud the footsteps are,) stumbles about, you can get away.

But naturally, something has to go wrong. Your trident hits the wall when you’re on the penultimate step, and only someone without ears could fail to hear it. You swear under your breath and break into a run.  
“Is someone there?” a voice calls, and you stop. Long, drawn out words? Affected accent? A little higher than it ought to be?

Oh. It’s Eridan.

You aren’t sure if you ought to keep running. Eridan’s one of your closest friends! Sure, he wanted to be more than that, and sure he was pretty peeved when you turned him down, and sure he’s always been a little unstable and angry. But he’s your friend all the same, and you’ve always thought him to be good deep down.

No, he wouldn’t hurt you. You’re sure of it…you’re _pretty_ sure of it. Can’t lie and say you aren’t a little bit scared. But as far as boys go, Eridan ought to be one of the safer ones. You stop running and call out to him. “Eridan? It’s Fef!”

“Oh, thank god,” you hear him call back. “I was so worried it’d be someone crazy. Where are you?”

“Ground floor, back exit!” You sling the trident over your shoulder, which is the most neutral way you can hold something so big and evil-looking.  After a few minutes, you manage to run into your buddy.

Eridan’s pretty tall for a guy your age. He doesn’t tower over the rest of the class or anything like that, but the height difference is noticeable when he stands next to someone like yourself. He’s in pretty good shape from soccer, but he’s still mostly elbow and gristle. Most of his height is in his legs, which are spindly and thin.

His face is long and slender and a little bit noble-looking; he’s from a really well-bred family, you know that much. He doesn’t like to talk about his home life. The oddest thing about his appearance is the tuft of hair he’s dyed purple for “pizzazz”. Most couldn’t get away with it, but when you come from a family of shipping magnates, you get some special privileges. He’s wearing his thick-rimmed and square glasses, some kind of fashion statement you never quite understood. Right now, he’s got his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. You don’t see a weapon.

He doesn’t look so bad, you think. Neither in general attractiveness (you like ‘em a bit shorter) or in how the game’s been treating him so far. That’s good to see. “Hey Eridan!” you exclaim with a grin. “Man am I glad to see you!”

  
  
Eridan nods shakily, as if he isn’t positive of whether or not he agrees. “Likewise,” he says after a moment. “You’re looking well, Fef…not too many deathmatches yet?”

“I don’t plan to have any deathmatches, in fact! I’m going to prevent anyone from fighting at all. We’ll band together and get off of this island.” You give Eridan a once-over and realize that you don’t see a weapon. Chances are he’s stuffed it into his clothes or something. “What do you think?”

“Sounds good,” he lies. You can always tell when he’s lying. “Where do we start?”

“I was going to stay in here until the fighting died down a bit…I don’t want to get shot at when I’m trying to recruit people!”

“Right…right.” Eridan smiles weakly. “Listen, Fef, it’s a really good plan, but…what if it doesn’t work?”

“Then I’m probably dead,” you shrug. That’d suck. You don’t want to die yet, there’s still a lot of stuff you haven’t done! But you don’t see yourself winning this game, either. “Only one winner the way things are now, Eridan. If we do it my way, we can have ten, fifteen, even twenty winners! That’s pretty good, right?”

“It is…but the odds are against you. I mean, us.” Eridan takes a few steps towards you. “You’d be dead, and I don’t want to lose you.”

You’re not sure why, but something about your buddy is making you a little uneasy. “That’s really sweet, Eridan. I don’t want to lose you, either."

“No, no, you don’t understand.” Eridan shakes his head. “I mean…well…”

“Spit it out!” you say, a little more forcefully than you meant to. “Err, sorry. I’m a little stressed out right now. What do you want to say?”

You see his adam’s apple bob for a moment. “I’ve…never even kissed a girl, Fef,” he murmurs under his breath. “I’ve always liked you, you know that. I got over the fact that you don’t like me. But…your plan isn’t going to work, Fef. Those assholes are just gonna kill and kill until they’re the last one left. Trying to talk to ‘em is a waste of time.”

“So we’re just going to shoot them?” you ask sarcastically.

Eridan seems to have missed the irony, though. He reaches under his shirt and pulls out a boxy one-handed gun. “Yeah,” he says proudly. “I got a pretty good weapon here. You and me, we can work together. I’ll keep you safe, you’ll watch my back for me…I think we can do it. I really do.”

You blanch. “Eridan! I can’t believe what you’re saying! You want to kill our classmates?”

“I don’t _want_ to kill them. I _have_ to. Come on, Fef,” he says, his voice pleading (and maybe a little threatening.) “You and me and no one else. What do you say?”

You gravely stare him down. After a moment, he shrinks away. “I’m leaving,” you say. “I don’t ever want to see you again, Eridan Ampora.”

“But-”

It’s too late. You’ve turned your back. You’ve never been more disappointed in him.

“Fef, wait! Come on! Fef! I said wait! _I said wait!!!_ ”

There’s a loud noise, like a pebble in a can amplified by a thousand. You don’t think you’ve ever heard such a loud noise before.

Your back hurts. Your _everything_ hurts. Hurts worse than any hurt you’ve ever had. You look down and realize that your shirt is covered in someone’s blood and slimy red snakes. When did that happen?

You don’t feel so good. Maybe you ought to lie down.

You slump to the floor, and try as you might, you can’t get up. You can’t even move. You just marvel as the blood soaks through your shirt and pools under you.

“Eridan,” you say dazedly, “I think you killed me.”

You watch him carefully as the life drains from you like water from a strainer.

 

 

 

* * *

Your name is Eridan Ampora, and you’ve just killed the only girl you’ve ever loved.

You watch her in silence until the ragged rise and fall of her chest ceases. She dies with her eyes open, boring holes into you.

You want to turn away, but you can’t. Instead, you flick the safety of your uzi back on and tuck it into your pants.

“Serves you right,” you mutter, “you stupid bitch.”

You don’t need her. You don’t need anyone. You’re going to win.

The rest of them can go fuck themselves.

 

 

 

* * *

You are now Vriska Serket, and you’ve got this shit.

Oh, yeah. You’re ready for this game. You couldn’t be more ready. If anyone was readier than you, they’d probably implode the universe from the sheer impossibility of being that ready. Your readiness levels are so off the scale that if you put seven more scales on top of the first scale, you’d still be off the eightfold scale.

You’re positive of your ability to win this. Hell, all the other kids might as well just get in a single file line so you can kill them quick and be done with it. It’ll save everyone a lot of time and trouble.

Why are you the only likely winner, again? Simple, nobody in the class is smarter or faster or tougher than you. NO ONE. You know your classmates: they’re just going to flounder around like a bunch of confused animals. Not you. You’re completely calm and in control. The only reason your hand is shaking is because that gunshot in the classroom was super loud. Seriously, Scratch is such an asshole! You think that, once you win, you’ll shoot him in his stupid face. Yeah. That’ll be cool.

You thumb the hammer of your magnum revolver. It’s a weird gun, apparently. In the movies, they have six shots, but this one has eight. That’s fine with you, eight is your favorite number. The very first thing you did was read the manual for how to use this thing, and it’s really not that complicated. Pull the hammer back, point it at someone you don’t like, squeeze the trigger. Rinse and repeat until you win!

You like the feel of the gun in your hand. Guns are really cool, now that you think about it. Maybe some of your classmates will also have some sweet guns that you can take once you kill them. Yeah.

You were in the forest a while ago, but you didn’t like the trees. They blocked the sun and it made you feel isolated and uncomfortable. Now, you’re in the outskirts of what looks to be some kind of town. You can see buildings in the distance. When night falls, you can find a good one to sleep in.

You come up upon a graveyard. Not a big one, though, maybe thirty tombstones in the whole place. It’s surrounded by a cast iron gate, but the door is hanging open. Just for fun, you stick out your revolver and let the barrel hit each bar of the gate in turn.

“Hello? Is someone there?” says a voice from within. You stop moving, all the blood in your body turning to slush. Fuck. Someone’s heard you.

Okay, okay, stay cool, Serket. You’ve got this, remember? You cock the hammer of the revolver and hold it up in front of you. No hesitation. You go in, you see them, you shoot, you leave. Shouldn’t take more than fifteen seconds.

You enter the small graveyard, and a figure appears from behind one of the tombstones. She’s a busty, curvy girl about your height with hair down to her waist. You blink twice.

“Aradia?” you quietly ask.

“Last time I checked,” she says. Aradia sits down, her back against a tombstone. “Hello, Vriska. You look crazy right now.”

Oh yeah. You almost forgot. You raise your revolver and point it at her. “Don’t talk,” you say, trying to inject some confidence into your voice. “Just be quiet so I can kill you.”

“You can kill me if you want. Actually, I’d prefer that.”

What? “What?”

You never really expected Megido, of all people, to take the easy way out. You’ve always admired Aradia, a little. She’s got big hips and big boobs, and you have basically none of either of those things. But it was more than just her looks. Aradia was always smiling and happy and strong and brave, no matter what was happening. At least, before her “accident”.

Nowadays, she's kind of gloomy. Her face was always flat and emotionless, she spoke in a reserved whisper, and she seemed apathetic towards pretty much everything. You’re not sure which Aradia you hated more: the loud and proud girl who you argued with on a nearly daily basis, or the dead-eyed one that accepted and ignored your taunts.

“I’ve been doing some thinking,” said Aradia, her voice level. “I don’t really see any way for me to get out of this alive. I’m not particularly strong or fast or athletic. In a physical confrontation with nearly anyone, I’m doomed. I might still stand a chance if I was smart and ruthless and played people against one another, but I’d rather die than use and betray someone who trusted me like that. Really, I don’t want to hurt anyone, especially not just for my own sake. I’ve got neither the skills nor the temperament to stand a chance. This game is pretty much hopeless for me.”

“You bet it is!” you say loudly. “It was hopeless the moment I left the classroom. There’s no way anyone but me can win this.”

Aradia shakes her head slowly. “There’s no need to pretend you aren’t scared.  I’d be scared too, if I was trying to win. I know you and I have a…history.” Aradia’s hand went to the top of her head, touching that long white scar that’s covered by her hair. “This is how I expected you to be. You’re fooling yourself into thinking you could win.”

Your temper flares. She’s talking down to you. You _hate_ being talked down to. “You were always a bitch, Aradia. Thinking you were so good and noble and kind, when you were really just as bad as anyone else. God, at least someone like Peixes actually was better than the rest of us. You, though, are no one special, and if you tried to play this game, you’d be dead in an hour. No wonder you’re taking the easy way out and trying to get me to kill you.” You suck in air. Why are you breathing so hard all of a sudden? “Well, you can give up. Or you can fight. It doesn’t matter, because I’m going to win. I’m going to win, and nobody can stop me.”

“Do you seriously think you have a chance?” Aradia’s voice has a sharp edge to it now. “We’re five foot four, Vriska, both of us. There are guys running around with a foot on us. Nearly anyone on this island can overpower us, and you think you’ll win?”

“Shut up!” you roar. “Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up! If you want to die so badly, just kill yourself! Don’t try to fucking use me, you coward!”

“I’d like to, but unfortunately, I don’t know how.” Aradia reaches into her skirt and pulls out a long black rope. A whip. “I don’t really see this as an instrument of suicide. That pistol of yours, though…if you knew how to fire it, it would be quick and easy. I doubt you do, though.”

“I do!” you shriek, holding it up and advancing on the other girl. “It’s super simple! Cock the hammer, pull the trigger. Cock the hammer, pull the trigger. Cock the hammer, pull the trigger!”

“So you do know,” Aradia says, her face unchanging. “Prove that you can actually win, then. Press your gun to my chest and shoot.”

You walk all the way up to Aradia and thrust the barrel over her heart. “Cock the hammer, pull the trigger,” you say furiously. “Cock the hammer, pull the trigger.”

Aradia’s dark eyes meet yours, and she nods slightly.

You shut your eyes. You don’t know why. “Cock the hammer, pull the trigger. Cock the hammer, pull the-”

A short, violent explosion fills your ears and your hand throws itself a foot up, past Aradia’s face. A shockwave travels up your arm and forces you to step back.

You open your eyes, and the shot traveled true. There’s a red smoking hole against Aradia’s chest, and you can see the bullet flattened against the stone tombstone. Aradia’s not quite dead; her head lolls at you and she blinks. But in moments, her eyes go dim and she slumps, a slight smile on her face.

Your whole body is shaking like a leaf. You turn away from the body as fast as you can and stagger away, laughing hysterically to yourself. “Cock the hammer, pull the trigger,” you manage in between giggles. “I-I get it. It’s super simple.”

END OF CHAPTER SIX


	8. Flashback Two: Ascension Hospital, Room 612

FEFERI: Sollux.

FEFERI: Sollux.

FEFERI: Sollux!!!

SOLLUX: huh?

SOLLUX: fuck FF ii’m 2orry.

SOLLUX: ii gue22 even payiing attentiion two 2hiit you 2ay ii2 two much trouble for me.

SOLLUX: you better break up wiith me now.

SOLLUX: iit’2 the 2mart thiing two do.

FEFERI: O)( my god, you are NOT going to do t)(e self-deprecation rig)(t now!

FEFERI: T)(is is a really )(orrible time for it, you know!

FEFERI: I will deal wit)( it t)(ree )(undred sixty two days out of t)(e year.

FEFERI: You keep it to yourself on my birthday, on C)(ristmas, and rig)(t now! Is t)(at so difficult?

SOLLUX: well excu2e me.

SOLLUX: excu2e me for beiing a liittle pii22ed off over 2eeiing one of my be2t friiend2 iin a fuckiing coma!

SOLLUX: ii gue22 ii’ll ju2t act liike ii’m euphoriic about iit, your maje2ty.

SOLLUX: dear aradiia, thank2 2o much for falliing down a 2taiirca2e and breakiing your head open.

SOLLUX: ii appreciiate iit. ii really do.

FEFERI: We bot)( know t)(at’s not w)(at I mean.

FEFERI: )(ow do you t)(ink I feel? Aradia’s one of my friends, too!

FEFERI: Plus, I’m Class President, t)(is is on MY )(ead! You t)(ink I’m glad t)(at t)(is )(appened?

FEFERI: Spoiler alert: I’m not! But I’m not going to mope around about it like s)(e’s dead, eit)(er.

FEFERI: )(ey, Aradia, really sorry t)(is )(appened to you. I )(ope you get up soon.

FEFERI: T)(at’s it! Anyt)(ing else is a waste of time!

SOLLUX: go2h, thank2 2o much.

SOLLUX: the award for mo2t empathiic giirlfriiend goes two s)(oe-iin feferii peiixe2!

SOLLUX: you can collect your award riight next two the “go fuck your2elf” receptacle.

SOLLUX: oh, waiit. they come from the same place, never miind.

SOLLUX: you know who you 2ound liike riight now? vrii2ka fuckiing 2erket.

FEFERI: …You’re rig)(t. T)(at was too far.

FEFERI: I’m just…I’m worried about )(er. We don’t know w)(at 2)(e’ll even be like w)(en 2)(e wake2 up.

SOLLUX: 2he wiill, 2oon enough.

SOLLUX: not fa2t enough, though.

SOLLUX: and they 2aiid that when 2he wake2 up, 2he’ll have braiin damage.

SOLLUX: miight be a totally different per2on.

SOLLUX: ii’m worriied two.

FEFERI: We all are.

FEFERI: Would ice cream make you feel better?

SOLLUX: …iit miight.

SOLLUX: bye, AA. 2ee you tomorrow.


	9. A Snap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this chapter onwards, art is illustrated by both spacewombat and krasmataz!

Your name is Naga Basile, and you have got a plan.

Size and agility and charisma…nah, you don’t have much of those things. You’re decently sized for a girl, but there’s still a shit ton of boys in class who dwarf you. You’re scrappy, but a purely physical game will get you killed. You know that.

How do you know that? A religious observance of every Program there’s been since you were very small. The Game fascinates you: the emotion, the violence, the idolization the winner receives…

Oh, and you’ve also got an intense loathing for everyone in your class. All of them. Every last soul. You’ve fantasized about this moment since the third day of eighth grade. Don’t start naming names, because you hate that person too.

Okay, so you’re objectively speaking not that big, and you aren’t particularly quick, and you’re far from popular, and your weapon is fucking bullshit. It’s a long brown cane made of some leathery material. You aren’t sure what it’s made of, exactly, but you can feel a thick metal rod in the center of it. You’d prefer a gun or a knife or something designed for, y’know, killing people. Not something for helping old people walk.

It’ll have to do. In fact, it _will_ do just fine. You’ve had one small stroke of luck, and that’s you stumbled upon the absolutely perfect prey to start with.

You don’t like Terezi Pyrope. You don’t like her laugh, you don’t like her glasses, you don’t like her personality, you don’t like her hair, and you don’t like her position. “Disciplinary Officer”? More like the toady of the faculty. She’s ratted on you more than once, and she’s always been too slippery for you to catch and beat the shit out of.

You could do it, too. Pyrope’s pretty tough and you won’t take her cunning away from her. As good as she is, though, she goes into battle with a handicap- literally. She’s not blind, but she’s the next best thing. Some sort of birth defect means that she can barely see anything more than five feet ahead of her. She wears corrective glasses, but even with them, she’s got shit vision.

No handicapped kid has ever made it more than halfway through the Program.

Like an idiot, Pyrope has set up camp and started a fire. You followed the smoke to find her in a clearing with leaves covering the ground. You’ve been watching her heat and eat some rations in the fire for the last ten minutes. It’s making your stomach growl. After you bludgeon the stupid bitch to death, you’ll take her food and whatever weapon she’s got. It can’t be much worse than what you got. It might even be a big gun or something.

You step out of the brush, walking with the utmost care. You keep your weight on the balls of your feet to be as silent as possible. You’re directly behind Pyrope, and the gap closes rapidly.

You’re imagining her head splitting from your attack, and you’re licking your lips in anticipation. You can do this.

Fifteen feet.

Thirteen.

Ten.

Sev-

Sudden, shocking force lifts you off your feet by your ankle. You shriek involuntarily as your cane falls out of your hands and clatters to the ground. Before you know it, you’re hanging upside down, something strong and taut gripping your foot. You feel your skirt fall around your midsection, revealing what’s underneath.

Terezi rises and looks back at you. She’s not pretty, really: a long face with a bone structure like knives and a smile that seems to show every tooth in her mouth. An untidy mop of black hair that looks utterly alien to the concept of a comb is behind her head, not obscuring her garbage vision in the slightest. Her arms and legs are long and bony, leading to a torso that’s all unfeminine angles. She’s tall enough for a girl, but she’s hardly the sort of person you’d think of as a good fighter from first look.

But Pyrope is fast, and deceptively strong, and not the sort most would want to fuck with. You’ve seen her throw hands before, as is her prerogative as Disciplinary Officer. What she lacks in size, she makes up for in grittiness and meanness. You remember when she dragged Dave Strider to the office only after kicking him in the ribs twice. He wasn’t doing much fighting back, though.

In a straight-up fight, maybe you could take her. It’d be close. With the drop on her, you’d win fast, but…it looks like you aren’t getting that drop after all.

Terezi’s face is always fixed in a position that suggests she’s about to start cackling. You hate it. You hate her.

* * *

You are now Terezi Pyrope, and you’ve made a successful arrest.

“I am really glad that rope trap works okay,” you muse, studying your defendant. “I was afraid the vines wouldn’t support the weight, but it looks like I did well!”  
You laugh, hard. Something about this is really funny to you. You can’t place a finger on what, though.

“Court,” you say dramatically, “is now in session. Her honorable Judge Pyrope presiding. All rise!”

You pause. “I would like to strike the last two words of that statement from the record. All those capable of rising have risen.”

“Lemme down, Pyrope,” the defendant growls. You hear a twinge of fear in her voice. Fear and…sweat. Nerves. She’s afraid.

There’s a strain in her voice, too, no doubt because of all the blood rushing to her head. “The defendant will not speak until she is told to speak!” you exclaim. “God, this is a lot of fun. More than I thought it’d be. Now then, let’s see what it is you dropped…”

You grope the ground in front of your captive, making sure you’re out of range of any sort of attack. Your hand clasps around the weapon: a leather cane with curious texture and tensile strength. “Perfect!” You grin. “This is exactly what I needed. Thanks so much. My weapon ended up being, uh…a little useless!”

“More useless than a cane?” asks Naga. “No fucking way. Nobody’s luck is worse than mine.”

In response, you retrieve your weapon from inside your jacket and show it to her.

“Binoculars?” she asks incredulously.

“Binoculars,” you reply, grinning understandingly.  
  
You weren’t entirely sure who you’re looking at, but judging from the voice… “I’m ninety-nine percent sure you’re Naga Basile! You know, I’ve never gotten the best look at you.” You approach, and then stop just short of the defendant. “If you try to bite my fingers or anything similar, I will beat you with this cane until I can see the white of your skull. Okay?”

You take her silence as a confirmation to go ahead with rubbing your hands on Naga’s face. Oh, yeah, definitely her. Squashed, flat, serpentine face with a high, small nose. Eyes slitted and wide, almost no eyebrows. A huge, thin mouth that dominates her face. Tame hair around a pair of tiny ears. Very much the Biblical Interloper, Naga is.

You’ve always protested Dave’s nickname for her. The mythological basilisk had the long, scaled bodies of a snake, but the heads, wings, and legs of a chicken. Naga’s almost the opposite: her face makes you think of snakes, but as you run your arms past her lumpy torso and onto her rough, stubby legs, all you can think is…is…

“Cock-a-doodle-doo!” You shout, cupping your hands around your mouth. You start laughing, really hard. “Now that was funny.”

“You’re fucking insane, Pyrope,” says Naga. A lot more fear now. Good. She grasps the situation.

“I don’t remember giving you permission to speak!” You scowl. You’ve been giving her too much leeway. Give these criminals an inch and they’ll stab you in the kidneys and leave you to die in a ditch. “The next time you speak out of turn, you will be held in contempt of court!”

“I-” Naga starts, before she looks straight at you. Something makes the words freeze in her throat. Clever girl.

You clear your throat. “Now then, Female Student Number Nine, Naga Basile. Aliases include ‘The Basilisk’ and ‘This Bitch’. You stand accused of attempted murder of an officer of the court. How do you plead?”

Naga says nothing. “You can answer that,” you add in an attempt to be helpful. “No? Alright, then I have to transition straight to the verdict! Heheheheh. Naga Basile, of the crimes you are accused of, this court hereby finds you-”

Naga starts thrashing and yelling, her fist coming within an inch of your temple. You barely saw it in your peripheral vision, mostly because you barely have a peripheral vision. You take a step back, out of reach of her strikes. After a moment, her squirming works, and her foot slips free of its bound. Naga crashes to the leafy floor of your camp with a loud thud.

You’re on her in moments. Before she can even get her feet under her, you’ve smacked her in the back of the skull with the staff. There’s a meaty thud, and her defendant’s head goes down. You quickly go down with her and put her head under your arm. Her hair is pressed against your armpit. Meanwhile, your right hand snakes under her neck and finds her cheek.

You squeeze, and Naga makes a choking noise. Good. Your hand is in the right place. This move is one your mother showed to you. It’s called a sprawl, and it’s a very important position in grappling. You’re far from an expert, but you know enough to get by.

“For attempted murder of an officer of the court,” you say as you get your weight behind you, suppressing Naga’s attempts to muscle her way out, “and attempted escape from your sentencing, this court finds you guilty of all charges. Your sentence is death. Now, let’s see if I remember how to do this…all I’ve got to do is…”

You take a deep breath. With all the force your small, sharp muscles can muster, you throw your upper body’s power upwards.

There’s a snap.

Naga’s back arches and she stops squirming incredibly abruptly. You let her go, and her head falls to the ground. Her neck is making an upside-down V. It’s really…very…strange.

“You know, Naga,” you say, “I haven’t ever killed someone before. And you’re wrong. I’m not crazy.” You pull yourself to your feet. “I acted like that because if I had to do that thirty more times without at least pretending I was enjoying it, I really would go mad.”

You find your cane and return to your fire. Gotta move now. No doubt, someone else will be here soon, and you don’t have the time or energy to take two and a half hours to recreate the rope trap. Put out the fire and move.

And then do the same thing tomorrow. You sigh. “Court is adjourned.”

* * *

You are now Karkat Vantas.

“Ow!” you shout as Sollux’s spindly fingers pinch your neck. “How careless can you be?”

“Shut up for two seconth,” he says, his mismatched eyes closed. “…Well, the collar ith very sturdy. Thereth nothing strong enough to break it that could fit between it and your neck that I can get my handth on.”

“Great to know,” you snarl. “I’d rather you find that out by shoving a scalpel into your own fucking jugular. Keep your scary-ass gnarled nails away from my breathing tube.”

“Hey, you agreed to help me,” Sollux shoots back. “You want to die with that collar around your neck, or do you want to die peathefully in your sleep forty years from now? You’ll be a virgin either way.”

“I hope you get a phalange stuck in every single orifice that’s been drilled into your bony-ass frame.” It’s good to see that, even in the worst circumstances, Sollux and yourself can still act how the two of you always act around each other.

While Captor scrawls something down onto a page of notes, you study your surroundings again. It’s…still a hospital. You’re sitting on a diagnosis table in a small room. The room is surprisingly clean; dusty from disuse, but everything looks well-maintained.

It was the tallest building you could see from the schoolhouse. Sollux and you had made a pact, a very long time ago, to meet in the tallest building on the island if your class was chosen for the Program.

Why make this pact with Sollux, and not one of your other friends? Good question. Gamzee or John would need your help more, while Kanaya or Terezi would be more help to you. Sollux is no good in a fight. He’s a self-professed coward, and unless a girl is involved, he’d prefer to duck and hide while some corn-eating motherfucker pulled your entrails out your eye sockets. You can’t rely on him for emotional support either, selfish shit that he is.

But…he’s got some incredible technical know-how. The infamous Program collars, these black chokers that are stuffed with explosives, mean that you have to kill, die, or both. If there was a way to disable them, though, you might have a chance of getting out of this without having to do either of those things.

You don’t like much the idea of dying, and killing is nearly as bad. As fantastic as you are in general, you are not suited for The Program. You’ve never been in a real fight before, for one. You puked your guts out because you couldn’t stop thinking about the brief glimpse you got of Cody’s corpse, for two.

Yeah. You really can’t stand the sight of blood n’ guts, which is somewhat problematic when you’re in what amounts to a “who can spill the most blood n’ guts” competition. In this sense, and only this sense, you are lucky to have Sollux around. Oh, a bag of potatoes that whines a lot would be a bigger asset in a fight, but if Sollux can disable the collars, you’ll take back…well, sixty or seventy percent of the bad stuff you’ve said about him.

Sollux is one of your best friends. Perhaps the best, except maybe Gamzee. He (Sollux, not Gamzee, who is probably eating dandelions in a field somewhere,) is short and slight and tends to gravitate towards people’s blind spot. Okay, you’re not exactly the best one to call other people short, but at least you’ve got some physical presence and tend to, uh, get people’s attention.

Sollux, meanwhile, speaks quietly so fewer people will notice his lisp, darts his eyes around a lot so fewer people will notice that they aren’t the same color, and keeps his hands in his pockets so fewer people will notice that they shake.

And yet, in spite of all that, he’s something of a hit with girls. Aradia and Feferi are great-looking (neither are your type, but this is as objective a measurement as you are capable of,) and they’ve only got eyes for him. It might be his face, which is long and slender and well-proportioned. You don’t really know and you don’t really care. So a socially awkward, pasty-faced nerd gets more attention than you do. Big deal. You aren’t bitter.

Sollux has always been convinced he’d die in the Program, and neither yourself nor Feferi nor Aradia nor plain and simple statistics have ever managed to change his mind on that. He’s a pig-headed piece of garbage that somehow taught itself language. What a great boyfriend. You aren’t bitter.

“So, Kay-Kay,” he says, “what I’m thinking ith a pressure thensor on the inside of the collar. So long as the battery ith active, if the pressure on the thensor ith altered, it blowth up.”

“So disable the battery.”

“Not that thimple. The battery is remotely operated, and Scratch hath the remote. I’d have to make my own remote to dithable it.”

“Can you do that?” you ask. Sollux comes over to you and, much to your chagrin, sticks his fingers back inside your collar.

“Not thure…if I could take one apart, I’d know for sure…what the fuck?”

“What?” you frown.

“…There’s a thpeaker on the inside of thith collar.” Sollux slaps himself on the face, hard. There’s a sharp snap as he does so. “Stupid, stupid, thtupid!”

His fingers have left pink imprints on his cheeks. Sollux stands up and starts pacing back and forth. “They know everything we’ve thaid. That’s…that’s a lot of it.”

“Fuck, we are dumbasses.” You’re trying to resist the urge to hit yourself in the face, too. It isn’t easy. This was such a simple, obvious mistake, but neither of you are thinking terribly clearly. You aren’t feeling particularly optimistic right now, but considering the look on Sollux’s face, it might be a decent idea to pretend you are. “Hey, dude, it’s not like they know everything on the paper.”

“More like there’s nothing utheful on the paper.” Sollux sighs. “I can only thpeculate as to the exact nature of the collarth. Without a blueprint, or something ath good, nobody could dithable it. We’re just wasting our time before some motherfucker comes along and thlays us both.”

“That isn’t true.” No, it isn’t. You refuse to accept it. “You need to shut the fuck up. Hang on, you pile of octopus excrement. Feferi and Aradia are somewhere on this island, right? You need to keep trying, for them. You’re the only guy in class who has any chance of shutting those collars off.”

“Am I?” Sollux puts a hand to his long, pointed chin. Yeah. Mention those girls and you could convince Captor to come to school naked. “I guesth I’ll thee what I can do. For them.”

“I think this is a good time to interject myself,” Scratch’s voice says.

You nearly fall to the ground in surprise and panic. You glance around frantically and pull your weapon from under your shirt. It’s a kama, a handheld scythe with a wooden sheath over the blade. Not the best weapon, and you aren’t entirely sure how to hold it, but it’s way better than nothing. Better than what Sollux got, anyways; a pack of throwing stars that neither of you have any idea how to use.

“Calm down, Kay-Kay,” says Sollux. “It’s just the speakers.”

You can practically imagine the smooth, repellent smile on Scratch’s face. “It’s been an intriguing game so far, no doubt. Let’s go by number. Male Student Number One Cody Nak, a death I’m sure you’re all aware of. Female Student Number Five Aradia Megido, ironically killed in a graveyard.”

Your mouth falls open, and you look at Sollux. His eyes are wide, what little color in his face draining away like water from a sieve. But Scratch isn’t done.

“Female Student Number Seven Feferi Peixes, a truly heartbreaking and vicious death.”

A small, inaudible “no” escapes Sollux’s lips.

“Male Student Number Nine Stephen Liche, a team effort by numerous individuals. Female Student Number Nine Naga Basile, our most recent and my personal favorite death so far. Female Student Number Fourteen Olga Grey, a very visually striking decapitation…not the best opening for the young ladies. Oh…” Scratch pauses, and you can hear venomous honey dripping from his tongue. “A special shout-out to Male Student Number Three Sollux Captor and Male Student Number Fifteen Karkat Vantas, who have been providing us here with an extremely entertaining and ironic conversation. Keep up the good work, gentlemen.”

“ _Bastard_ ,” you whisper, your fists clenched so hard that you can feel your fingernails digging into your palms.

You’ve never been so angry before. Yes, you say that a lot, but this time, you mean it.

“Now then, one other order of business. The less of you are left standing, the less space we need on this island. Thus, I am hereby declaring two no-man’s-lands. If you are presently in them, you have one hour to vacate them. They are B7 and J4. That’s B7 and J4. Cross them out on your maps, and get out while you still can. That’s all, students. You’ll hear from me again in six hours. Good luck to you all, and may the best player win.” Scratch’s smooth voice fizzles out.

You look at Sollux. “Listen, Sollux-”

“I’m fine.” He shakes his head. “Just…jutht fine. A lot of people dead. We aren’t thafe here. We wouldn’t know it if thomeone tried to get the drop on uth. I wanna go to the roof, do thome scouting.”

“And the collars?”

“Worry about them later.”

You blink three times, trying to figure out what your next move is. Something about the far-off look in your friend’s eyes is unsettling. “Okay, but you shouldn’t-”  
He’s already walking away, for the roof. You grab the page of notes from the table and follow close behind.

The hospital is four stories tall, and the two of you had been on the second. This island must be seriously tiny, if the largest building on it is this small.

Sollux is ten steps ahead from you. You shout for him to slow down, but he ignores you. Even if he did stop, you don’t have many words in mind for him- or at all. Feferi and Aradia and Cody and Olga and Stephen and Naga…okay, none of them were close friends or anything like that, and you actually disdained all but the former two, but you had never (seriously) wished death on a single one of them. Hell, Feferi had come to you for relationship advice last month! Of all of the dead, you’ll miss her the most.

But that’s why you’ve got to get off this island alive. Somehow, someway, you need to honor her memory. Feferi would have wanted you, and Sollux, and every other douchebag in your class to somehow find a way to live through this.

So you will. For her, and for Sollux, and for John and Gamzee and Kanaya and Terezi and every other douchebag in this class.

You’ve got an idea that Sollux is going to do something stupid on top of the building. You’ll stop him. Somehow.

You can see the half the damn island from the top of the hospital. It’s a pretty interesting view: a town and harbor behind you, a forest and river in front of you, the schoolhouse due northwest, more settlements farther on…you can even see the faint black outline of another island in the distance. Or maybe that’s a battleship.

Sollux is leaning against the railing of the roof, staring down. You walk up next to him, looking him in his misty eyes. “Don’t jump,” you say quietly.

“Be fatht, wouldn’t it, Kay-Kay?” He gives you a little smile. “Not like being hunted down thlowly. No surprithes. We’ll know it’s coming. And it might not even hurt.”

“Don’t. Jump. That isn’t what Feferi or Aradia would have wanted. They were brave, they wouldn’t have wanted you to take some little child’s way out of thi-”

“Feferi and Aradia aren’t here!” Sollux shouts, so loud it startles you half a step back. “They’re gone, and they aren’t coming back. I won’t thee them again until I’m dead.”  
You move forward, grabbing your friend’s wrists. “You jump and I will electrocute you back to life just so that I can kill you again,” you growl. “Get ahold of yourself! We need you! You’re the only one, much as it agonizes me to admit, who’s got the brains to take these collars off. You die, and the rest of us are following close behind. Me. Everyone else you care about.”

“Everyone else I care about ith already dead,” Sollux says. His voice is so flat it’s almost frightening. His feet shift and one swings forward to- FUCK!

You fall to your knees, clutching your crotch and choking back a sob. “You dirty little sucker of a thousand cocks-” you start.

But you’re too late.

Sollux has already jumped.

You hear his thin, frail frame hit the grass below, and without thinking, you stick your head out to look. Immediately, you feel bile rise up your throat and tears stream down your face. You clasp your hand over your mouth.

  
Sollux’s head cracked open on impact, and blood and brains have already formed a thick stew with the dirt and grass. His mouth is full of vomit, no doubt kicked up in the quarter-second between the ground and death. One of his eyes has popped from his skull, extending out several inches, nearly touching his cracked glasses.

He isn’t quite dead yet, though. He’s still twitching.

And to get out of this hospital, you’ll have to step over his body.

You scream.

END OF CHAPTER SEVEN


	10. The Ones We Should Be Afraid Of

Your name is Shelby Cetus, and you’re afraid.

Books always put fear as like tights, clinging to your skin and restricting  motion. You’ve learned that that is wrong. Fear is like a ten thousand pound weight on your shoulders, forcing you to the ground, overpowering your rationality and hope with the irresistible urge to cry.

That’s how you’ve spent the last couple hours. After stumbling into some small town, you found a small one-room cabin. You crawled under the table, let your bag fall behind you, and started sobbing harder than you’ve ever sobbed before.

You don’t want to die on some god-forsaken island a thousand miles from home while some sick perverts get off on the sight of your mangled corpse. You don’t deserve this; you’re a good girl. You don’t steal or fight or do drugs or anything. You like sleepovers and books and big comfy sweaters.

You don’t want to die. But you will, and soon.

Someone will find you eventually, you can tell. Someone huge and desperate with a big weapon and sharp teeth. They don’t even have a face. Just a monster, masculine and vicious and more than happy to tear you limb from limb.

You want to be out of here. You’d give anything to be rid of this terror, even your life. There’d be a bullet between your eyes if you had a gun or the courage to pull the trigger. You have neither.

Your “weapon” is a bulletproof vest. That sounds useful, but if someone started shooting at you, you probably would be too afraid to even run away. Any bullets this thing stopped would eventually be joined by a couple rounds in places the vest doesn’t cover. It’s worthless.

You don’t know how much time has passed since you entered this tiny house, but it’s felt like an agonizing eternity. Either way, only two things disturb you.

The first is the announcement of some deaths. It wasn’t anyone you were particularly close to, but somehow, it made you cry even harder. You’d never see them again. There were people on this island killing and fighting, quite a lot of them. What little hope you had for peace was extinguished.

The second, just moments ago, is the sound of the wooden door sliding open and a slow male voice asking “Yo, anyone home?”

It’s such a shock that you jolt up, hitting your head on the top of the table. You yelp more out of surprise than out of pain. There’s a terrible second of hanging silence before the voice continues. “Guess I ain’t in mother fucking solitude after all. That’s a relief.”

Only one person talks like that. Male Student Number Six Gamzee Makara.

Logically, this should be a good thing. Gamzee’s entirely harmless. Eternally calm and amiable, never showing much but an easy, slightly bewildered smile, it’s easy to forget that he’s towers over near everyone in the class. Only Equius Zahhak, Olga Grey, and Harvey Boxcars outsize him, and you’d probably be frozen in fear at the sight of one of them.

Gamzee doesn’t seem like such a threat in comparison. Depending on the last time he did…whatever it was he did that made him smell like cough syrup and tobacco and stare into space for hours on end, he might not even be entirely sure of what’s going on.

And yet, you can’t stop shaking.

You hear him walking down the hall, stopping to check each room. “I ain’t in much of a gaming mood,” he says, the final words of the sentence a little too loud. His voice has always had an odd fluctuation to it, but it seems worse now. “So this impromptu game of mother fucking hiding and seeking doesn’t much tickle my fancy.”

You try to stay as quiet as you can, but it’s hard. You can’t stop yourself from breathing hard and sobbing in raw terror. Gamzee- sweet, harmless Gamzee- is giving you a heart attack.

Eventually, you hear his footsteps descend down the hall until he pulls open the door to the room you’re hiding in.

You can only see the sternum and down, but there’s no doubt about it: that’s Gamzee Makara. Nobody else in the class is that knobby and thin. His legs alone are nearly as long as you are tall, spidery appendages that make his shuffling steps longer than some people’s strides. His hands, meanwhile, are large and weathered. How they got so beat up, you aren’t sure, but you’ve only seen them a couple times- he usually keeps them in his pockets. Only one hand is visible, the other must be over his head or something.

  
Gamzee bends over at nearly a ninety-degree angle, putting him just above face level with you. “Shelby,” he grins. “Now you’re a sight my eyes are mother fucking ecstatic to drink in.”

“A-a-am I?” You lock eyes with Makara. He’s got a long, sallow face and perpetual stubble; probably the only boy in the class who could grow a beard if he really wanted to. A wildman’s mop of hair juts up every which way with little rhyme or reason from his defined, rough forehead. Gamzee’s thin, noble eyebrows and beaky hook of a nose could lead to a haughty rich kid’s face if he cut his hair and shaved his face and stopped doing whatever made him so…grimy.

You know very little about Gamzee Makara personally. He always greets you in the hallway and you’ve heard him refer to you as “great mother fucking friend”, but you’ve heard him say the same about a rock he glued googly eyes to. He’s no threat. Odd and perhaps a bit disturbed, but harmless.

But when you see what’s behind his head face, you immediately start screaming.

  
  
Slung over Gamzee’s shoulder is a baseball bat. But not just any bat, no; a dozen if not more steel nails have been hammered through the head. It’s an unspeakably cruel weapon, and the mental image of what it would do to a face (specifically, your face) is at once instantaneous and too much to bear.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Gamzee shouts over your cries. “I ain’t looking to maul no cool-ass chicks! Cool your skullmeats, Shell!”

The logical part of your brain wants you to calm down, but that part of Shelby is little and weak in comparison to the part that is in a state of frenzied terror. You stick your hands over your mouth and feel tears stream down onto your fingers.

Gamzee’s reply to your fear is to drop his bat on the floor. As it lands with a clatter, he slowly extends one of his long, thin arms towards you. “Shelby, come on, girl. This clown ain’t got no need for that shit, he ain’t much liking the mother fucking thought of breaking that bat over your blond head.”

Something about his tone is indescribably calming and reassuring. “You…you mean it?” you ask tentatively.

“Hell to the yeah! That bat’s for some big motherfucker who’s got his fix on taking me down. You ain’t here to fight, Shell, I can tell. You want out, doncha?”

Slowly, you nod. Gamzee nods assuredly. “That’s mother fucking miraculous, is what it is! I ain’t here to cause no contusions with that there stick, I just want to see you stop cowering under that table. Don’t worry, Shelby girl, ain’t no one gonna lay hands on you so long as you come with me.”

You bite your lip. You want to believe Gamzee, you really do; he’s telling the truth, as far as you can tell. And he did throw the bat away…”Alright,” you say slowly. “I’m…I’m coming out.”

“Yeah!” Gamzee exclaims as you crawl  forward. “Shelby, new best friend, you’re playing this game like a turtle. No mother fucking progress by either of us gonna be made if you don’t come out of your shell.”

You draw to your full, unimpressive height. Gamzee’s a few inches shy of a foot taller than you are. You’re basically the antithesis of his appearance, now that you think about it: where he is long and thin, you are short and rotund. His hair is dark and wild while yours is light and neat. His face is angular and sharp, while yours is soft and round.

You’re as different as two people can possibly be, but…maybe you can actually trust him. Maybe he can actually protect you.

“Gamzee…thank you! Thank you so much!” You run over to him and nearly fall into his arms. He catches you, wiry arms holding you up.

“Whoa, shit Shell!” he laughs. “I ain’t doing anything but being me. Hey, you wanna hear something that’s really fucking funny?”

“What?” you ask, muffled partially by Gamzee’s surprisingly muscular chest.

“I don’t need no bat to mother fucking waste you!”

You blink. “Wh-”

With blinding speed, Gamzee pulls your forehead back and smashes you into a headbutt. There’s a brief moment of black, and you find yourself on the floor.

Tears of pain and shock are streaming down your face. You hear Gamzee slump to the ground next to you, and a gnarled hand takes a huge handful of your hair, pressing your face against the floor.

“Gamzee,” you plead, “p-please no…”

“Begging’s just mother fucking shameful,” Makara says in a deathly quiet voice. “I need you to SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

With an animalistic roar, Gamzee lifts your head and then slams your head into the floor. Everything goes warm and wet and amazingly painful.

 

Your name is Gamzee Makara, and…hold on a sec.

Smash. Smash. Smash.

Smash. Smash. Smash.

Crack.

Smash. Crack. Smash.

Smash.

Crack.

Shelby’s head is crimson, and you look at the flattened shit that used to be her face. Her eyeballs are popped out and crushed, while her eyes are scarlet-purple lumpy welts. Her tongue lolls out from between her crushed teeth, and her nose is shaped like a smashed potato. It’s all real fucking funny, is what it is.

“Good look for you, Shell!” you laugh. “GOOD MOTHER FUCKING LOOK.  I was a bit afraid that the floor’d shatter against your thick skull, but it looks like I lucked out.”

You gaze over at her bag and open it up. Pulling out what you recognize as a bulletproof vest from the top, your grin widens even further. “AND MY LUCK,” you shout with a roar of laughter, “IS LOOKING UP AND MOTHER FUCKING UP!

 

You are now Dave Strider, and you’ll be damned if you can’t keep her safe.

Harley doesn’t deserve this. You mean, nobody does, not even shitsacks like Stephen Liche or Spencer Slick, but especially not her. Harley…she’s got a future. She could be a physicist or a doctor or a biologist or whatever it is she wants to be. She’s got a brain the size of this island, and when she feels like using it, there isn’t anyone you know who’s smarter. Not Rose, not Kanaya, not Terezi. No one.

And she’s good, too. Genuinely good, not fake-good like you. She’s warm, and kind, and wants to help even people who don’t really deserve it. She’s got it in her head that folks are inherently good, and you don’t have the heart to tell her otherwise.

She makes you better by being near her. And she makes Rose better, and she makes Karkat better, and she even makes John (who is already way too nice for his own good) better. Harley’s the one who knows what’s up.

So you’ll protect her. You’ll spook anyone you don’t like that the two of you meet, and if you really have to, you’ll skewer anyone who tries to pull the same kind of shit Stephen Liche did. The idea of actually killing someone makes your stomach churn and curl, but you’ll do it if that’s what you’ve got to do.

Anything to protect Harley. She’s important. You aren’t.

“Dave?” says Jade quietly. “Are you alright?”

“Hmm?”

“It’s just that…you’re kind of staring at me!”

From behind your shades, you wince. Whoops. “Nah, I was actually looking past you. I thought I might’ve seen someone run by. The shades must’ve led to the confusion, that’s my bad. It’s the price of being incredibly cool.”

“Uh huh.” Jade nods and cracks a grin. “You can stare if you want. I don’t mind, really!”

“I’ll keep that in mind when you decide to take a bath.”

“Come here so I can hit you,” she says patiently. You walk over, and Jade lightly punches you in the shoulder.

“Damn, girl, you trying to take my arm off?” You clutch your arm and act like someone just dug a hatchet into it. “You need to control those meathooks you’re passing off as hands.”

 _No Strider_ , says a curiously Lalonde-esque voice in your mind, _This is not the right time to flirt. This is the right time to be on guard and be vigilant and be ready for anything and everything._

It’s…it’s just hard, is all. You don’t like seeing Jade be all serious and spooked. Her head darts around like a dog from sound to sound, making sure none of those sounds are footsteps or gunshots (and you actually heard a gunshot earlier, way in the distance.)

It’s been worse since Scratch’s announcement. You were never best buddies with Aradia Megido, but she had always seemed like one cool chick whenever you spoke with her. The others weren’t much of anyone to you.

Jade could say much the same, but again, she isn’t fake-good like you. She genuinely cared about Naga Basile, who hated her, and Olga Grey, who menaced her. Feferi, who had always gotten along swimmingly (Peixes would have liked that description) with Jade, caused Harley to tear up. Those tears turned to outright sobs Stephen’s death came on- it was a shock to you too, but you were way more interested in who did the killing rather than the fact that the murderous piece of shit was dead.

Jade cried for about five minutes, and then was back on her feet, more vigilant than ever. You’re glad she’s taking things a little more seriously now, especially now that night has begun to fall, but…you wish it didn’t happen like this. What if someone one or both of you genuinely cares about comes onto the alarm? What if it’s Terezi, or John, or Rose, or Karkat? What then?

No, dude, keep your mind on the task at hand. Think about that sort of shit later.

For now, you’ll keep Harley safe. If you run into any other chill folk, you’ll protect them, too. As it stands, Jade’s got the monopoly on Strider’s sharp blade and sharper wit. You’re like…her knight. You’re some jackass in a tin can, riding this nasty-smelling horse, spearing motherfucking dragons in the throat so you can ride back all char-broiled and get, like, a handkerchief and a peck on the cheek for your troubles.

You make sure you’ve still got both your weapons. The gun’s still in your pants, the safety most assuredly on. Your sword is on your back, making you feel like an awesome ninja. Harley’s got that crazy rifle. When it comes to armaments, you’re not really wanting.

“Dave,” says Jade, “there are…people up ahead. People, plural.”

“Uh oh. How many people?” You squint. The dark is making it a little difficult to see through your shades. You’ll take them off soon.

“T…two? Three? It’s really tough to tell.”

You bite your lip. “Two’s one thing, but three’s another. Which is it?

Jade shuts her eyes and listens- really listens, like a wolf listening for squirrels capering in the trees. “…Two. Definitely two.”

“Sick. Let’s check it out, and if they aren’t cool, we bounce.” You can’t pretend you aren’t a bit anxious. Sure, it might be, like, John and Rose. But it’s more likely to be someone you don’t have much interest in bro’ing out with.

The two of you walk as silently as you can towards where Harley says they are. Soon enough, you start to hear murmured speech. “ _Past this bush_ ,” Jade hisses, gesturing for you to peek over the large green shrubbery before you.

You peek over the top. It’s…it’s…

Aw hell. It’s Spencer Slick and Desmond Droog.

“Ja-” you start, but she shakes her head frantically and puts a single finger up. You want to signal her that the two of you should leave.  There is no chance of you getting in a scrap with Slick or Droog. These guys are hardcore. Even with the drop on them, you wouldn’t want a fight. Especially not a gun fight.

“You sure they’re coming?” says Slick, his voice coarse but a little crackly. He isn’t huge, but there’s plenty of power in that compact body. You’ve seen him shirtless in the gym changing room before, and the fucker’s built. All mean, stringy muscle and a few scars you don’t really want to know anything about. A scary dude through and through. Maybe even the scariest.

“They are aware of the signal,” Desmond replies. He’s nearly as tall as you, that dead-fish-eyed prick. He’s no less dangerous than his buddy…maybe even a little bit more. No scars on Droog, though. He’s too careful for that, “As are you. Harvey and Cole are not imbeciles, Slick. They will be here.”

“Lucky number seven,” Slick says, puffing out his chest. “G-7, G being the seventh letter, seven hours into the game. You thought I was being an asshole for making y’all learn it, but once again I am right, and you are left looking like a hairy ballsack.”

“I did not call you an ‘asshole’. I said that our chances of being in the Program were astronomically low, and instituting a meeting place was a waste of our time. I will gladly eat my words, now if it means the four of us can meet up so early on.” Droog runs his finger through his hair.

Jade’s hand come to rest on your bicep. She pinches it twice. _Two more coming._

Ten seconds later, Harvey Boxcars and Cole Deuce emerge from the opposite direction. Boxcars is a fucking giant, as big as two of Jade. Slung over his shoulder is a gigantic shotgun, nearly as large as Jade’s rifle. He’s always wearing a frown, even when he’s happy. It’s…kind of strange,  really. He scares the contents of your bowels out of you, but somehow, he strikes you as less dangerous than Slick or Droog. That says a lot about Slick and Droog…and you, you guess.

Deuce isn’t much to look at in terms of height or face, but when you consider the fact he’s casually juggling three grenades, you make a mental note not to underestimate him. He’s always been a little bit off. You’re scared of him, too. It’s like a big party of people who intimidate you, and you decided to crash because you want to get Jade and yourself killed.

You really, _really_ want to go.

“Ya ever seen a man juggle live grenades before?” Boxcars near-hollers, his voice a masculine bellow. “Fuckin’ impressive, is what it is!”

“Not live grenades,” says Cole serenely. “Not until I remove the pin. These are M-62s, they’re filled with RX and TNT. Stable explosives, until I remove the pin.”

“Took ya long enough,” Spencer spits. “I was thinking ya had already bit it.”

“In the hour since Scratch came on the horn?” Boxcars taps his huge collar. “Nah. Whadya think of the kids that are fish food, boss?”

“Only one I’m happy about is that big bitch Olga. The rest were assholes, not worth the bullets it took to kill ‘em. Now, if someone gets Zahhak or Makara or that creepy Pandora broad, I’ll sit up and take notice.” Slick grins. “Half the class’ badasses are right here, though.”

Jade pinches you again. _One more_.

“Makara, really? The stick-man?” Harvey, along with Cole, walks over to his compatriots. “Hell, he ain’t anything but a runt. I’ll break him over my knee if I see ‘im.”

While Desmond tucks his hand inside of his jacket, Slick shakes his head. “You’ve never looked him right in the eyes. Nothing there. Black and empty. Same reason I don’t want to dance with Merriett, fine as she may be.”

“Because you are noted for your brilliant taste in women,” Droog says, a wooden edge to his voice. “Hello, Simone.”

You whip your head to a tall, elegant woman leaning against a tree at the edge of the clearing.

Yeah. Simone’s the only girl in the class you’re comfortable calling a “woman”. She’s got curves like an hourglass, skin smooth and shiny like a polished statue. A statue’s a good comparison. An ice sculpture, meticulously crafted but cold to the touch. “Ice Sculpture” is a shit nickname, though, so you just call her Snowman.

Stunning as she might be, you would never hit on Simone. Not for a thousand dollars and tickets to this foreign rapper you really like. She’d chew you up and spit you out.

“Slick,” she says, her voice a breathless purr. You wonder if her voice always sounded like that- always sounded like melting chocolate and a knife through flesh. “And Slick’s friends.”

“Hiya, Snowman!” says Cole cheerfully. “How’d you find us?”

“Boxcars couldn’t make more noise if he blasted that shotgun every time he took a step.” Simone’s lips, black and full, wrinkle into something almost like a smile. “Tell me, Droog, when did you notice I was coming?”

“Eight seconds before I could see you.” You’ve never seen that look on Desmond’s face before. You’ve seen disdain, satisfaction, annoyance, even wry humor, but never that angry half-smile he’s rocking.

He’s afraid. Desmond Droog- Desmond _motherfucking_ Droog is terrified of Simone Frost.

“Such a clever boy you are, Desmond,” Simone coos. “Tell me, Slick, what’ll you do when Droog figures out he’s too clever to be taking orders from you?”

“I dunno, I guess I’ll kill him?” Slick snorts. There’s no fear in his eyes. “Same as what you’ll get, Snowman, if you don’t give me your business right now.”

“A partnership,” Simone answers, letting the words drip like honey. Your heart scrunches up. Slick and his gang are four of the class’ spookiest students already. With Simone in tow, that’s a full sixth of the class…no, it’s more like a fifth, seeing as how you’re down to twenty-four students already. Five of the baddest in the class working in tandem…not much could stop them, could it? Certainly not the two of you.

“You wanna work with me? After the shit you pulled?” Slick reaches into his jacket and pulls out a knife. It’s a little odd, and most wouldn’t know it, but you’ve got an intimate knowledge on this subject. That’s a butterfly knife- a sharp one. “Wanna see the scar I’ve got? It’s shaped like the moon, you’d like it.”

“Plenty of time for that later. Come on Slick, you know what a good time I can be.” Simone cocks her hip out and slowly licks her lips, a gesture that sends a chill down your spine, and an entirely different sensation to the inseam of your pants. “And that I could kick any of your asses without much trouble.”

“But not all our asses. This ain’t school no more, Snow. You try to pull your little plays, try that chess game you like so much, and I’ll stick the board up your ass.”

“Kinky. There’s nineteen students left on this island, Slick, and each and every one of them knows that you dying will be a good thing for them.” Simone’s hand goes to her skirt, so subtly you almost didn’t notice it. “Either I’m with you, or I’m against you. And believe you me, boys, if I’m not with you, not one of you is leaving this island in buriable condition.”

“That seems kinda mean, Simone!” Cole admonishes. “You wanna work with us, but then you threaten us like that?”

Simone laughs tersely and humorlessly. “Slick’s always been receptive to the harsher aspects of me, haven’t you Slick?”

“Not this time.” Slick makes a small gesture with his free hand. In an instant, guns are drawn. Boxcar’s shotgun is trained on Simone’s ample chest, while Droog has taken an old gun with a long, thin muzzle from his jacket. It’s vaguely familiar to you, like you’ve seen it in a movie before. A submachine gun, you think it’s called.

Simone, meanwhile, has pulled her own weapon. It’s an elegant black pistol, simple and not very large, but you remind yourself it’d kill just the same. She’s got it trained on Slick, who hasn’t budged from his stump.

“Fire, Droog,” says Simone in a voice that most people wouldn’t use with two guns trained on them. “Take both Slick and myself out in one move. Two of your biggest rivals, gone like that.”

“I have little intention of betraying my friends,” says Desmond. “And I’d appreciate it, Simone, if you would cease with the insinuations to the contrary.”

“Can we just shoot her?” asks Boxcars. “I haven’t actually gotten a chance to fire this thing yet.”

“Soon.” Slick plays with his knife absently while staring down the girl. “Obviously, nothing is gonna be resolved by a firefight. Tell ya what, Snowman. I’ll give ya thirty seconds to bolt, and then we’re coming after you.”

“Thirty seconds? What a generous boyfriend you are.”

“ _Ex_ -boyfriend. And you know how much I hate waiting.” Spencer’s eyes flash with something dark and dangerous. “ _Go_.”

With a moment’s hesitation, Simone skulks back several steps and into the brush. You hear footsteps for a few moments, and then she’s gone, leaving only an odd desire for you to kill a saber-tooth tiger behind her.

“That’s twenty seconds,” says Slick. “Let’s get her.”

Cole cocks his head. “Not thirty?”

“I said that I hate waiting, don’t I? C’mon, before we lose her.”

Only after Slick and his gang charge off after Snowman do you dare to exhale fully. “Jesus hopped up on PCP and grass clippings, was that tense. No clue how we didn’t get spotted.”

“We did,” says Jade softly. “Simone saw the edge of my shirt and the top of your head as soon as she entered the clearing. She knew we were here.”

You bite your lip. Shit. “Well, there’s a silver lining to that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We know which people on this island are the ones we should be afraid of. I don’t envy the poor bastards who get caught in the middle of that.”

END OF CHAPTER EIGHT


	11. Flashback Three: Lalonde Household, Rose's Room

JADE: and then i shoved the entire sandwich in my mouth

ROSE: You didn’t!

JADE: it barely fit, i thought i was going to choke!!!

CASEY: ahahahaha

ROSE: Oh god. Sleepovers are fun, I should do them more often. I will admit that I am unfamiliar with the customs of such gatherings.

JADE: it really isn’t that complicated!

JADE: just do what you usually do with your friends, but in your pajamas

JADE: whatever is fun to do! what do you two like?

CASEY: we usually just knit

CASEY: and talk about school and friends and just like life i guess

JADE: well, i don’t know how to knit, but maybe one of you could teach me??? :D

ROSE: Okay. Sure. Casey, could you please fetch the yarns?

CASEY: sure be right back

ROSE: …I’m very sorry, Jade.

JADE: what are you apologizing for?

ROSE: I’m being terribly socially awkward right now. I’m afraid I have no idea how to handle you.

JADE: D: i’m sorry! i didn’t know i was so difficult

ROSE: No, it has nothing to do with you! It’s more of an issue with myself.

ROSE: Dave and John leave an enormous mess wherever they go. They need someone with an ounce of sense around to make sure they don’t break something important, like their skulls.

ROSE: Kanaya and I just bother one another endlessly about terrible literature. Casey and I have known each other since the cradle.

ROSE: I like physics and botany and animals, but the hard sciences are far from my specialty. I like wizards, for fuck’s sake. It makes it difficult for me to connect to you, which is really too bad, because logically speaking we should be best friends.

JADE: don’t worry about it rose! i consider you to be one of my best friends :)

JADE: we don’t have too much in common admittedly but then neither do karkat and i heheh

JADE: we’re always together because you’re bffs with john and dave and im bffs with john and dave but you dont really see the two of us as really close if i am understanding you right?

ROSE: Yes.

JADE: that’s fine! you sort of stick with people who you think need taking care of i think

JADE: you know i like kanaya but she can kind of do that thing where she…

JADE: uh…

ROSE: Meddles in other people’s business until they come to see her as a nuisance and do away with her, leaving her feeling depressed for weeks on end?

JADE: yeah, that :(

JADE: john and dave, like you say, are just careless in general

JADE: and you and casey are like sisters!

JADE: you’re only a few months older than she is, but you act like you’re a few years older

JADE: i always thought a big sister like that would be really cool to have!!! :D

JADE: have you noticed that a lot of people who might give her a hard time leave her alone because of you?

ROSE: Are you suggesting me to be some sort of Equius Zahhak-type?

ROSE: Breathing down the neck of the Class A Rogue’s Gallery so that they won’t spoil her with their talk of liquor and rock n’ roll music?

JADE: heheheh sort of!!!

JADE: but in general i can take care of myself i’ve been doing it for a lot of my life so even though i like you i don’t really need your help with too much

JADE: casey relies on you a lot i think

JADE: and you like having people rely on you

ROSE: I do. I’d congratulate you for the astute observation, but anyone with eyes could see that about me.

ROSE: I fear for the life of her first boyfriend.

JADE: he won’t make it through the school year

JADE: and once you’ve killed him none of us will be safe, will we???

ROSE: I am afraid that once I acquire a taste for human blood, it will be very difficult to break it.

ROSE: But in all seriousness, that is an interesting way to think of my relations. And here I thought I was the one who psychoanalyzed my friends.

JADE: uh oh D:

ROSE: Relax, I’ll spare you the brutality of my psychological barrage for the moment. The Rorschach Tests will stay at the bottom of file cabinet, and I give you permission to sock me in the mouth if I utter the phrase “tell me about your mother” in a ludicrous German accent.

JADE: that’s good!!!!!

CASEY: hey guys

ROSE: Casey, what took so long?

CASEY: oh just eavesdropping in the hallway

ROSE: …

JADE: …D:


	12. The Clock Strikes Midnight

Your name is John Egbert, and this is your new least favorite subject.

Rose traces a black X through Equius’ face. “But we can agree Equius would be a poor ally, yes?”

“I don’t trust him,” you answer honestly. “I don’t think he would want to help us. I hope we don’t have to fight him, though. I’m not sure if PM can take him.”

“I am. Terezi is next.” Rose taps the pen against the class map twice. Yeah, definitely your new least favorite subject. Your old least favorite subject used to be History, because you knew for a fact every word of it was lies. After class, Rose would always tell you what actually happened. That is, until Terezi told her that the faculty was starting to get wise. That was nice of Terezi to do that. She could have (literally) dragged Rose to the front office to get a mark on her permanent record, but she didn’t.

You kind of like Terezi. Yeah, you and her have argued before, and she did push you off the jungle gym when you were kids, but she’s really smart and athletic and tough.

“I like Terezi,” you say.

“No. Certainly not.”

“Why not?”

“She’s selfish. And smart. The moment it is advantageous, we’re corpses…she could do it, too.” Rose frowned. “Terezi is not like me, John. Ultimately, she cares about no one but herself.”

“I…okay. Next is Dave, right?”

“Obviously a terrible ally.”

You nod. “The smell would give us away to the entire island.”

“Although we could use his face as a deterrent to interlopers. ‘Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here’.”

You laugh, and Rose joins you. It’s nice to laugh again, to feel the way things were before…this.

It’s PM’s fault, you think. She’s the one who led you all to this nice camp, she’s the one who made you feel like you guys might actually have a chance in a fight. It makes that hope you had going earlier feel cheap and worthless. This isn’t secondhand hope that’s riddled with holes and smells like pee. This is actual hope. PM might actually get you out of this alive.

PM went down to the stream (about two minutes of walking, coordinated so both locations were visible on the collar tracker at once,) to wash her clothes off while Casey stood guard. You realized that you would have difficulty focusing on guard duty if PM was naked a few feet away, and so you volunteered to stay at camp. Rose did, too.  
Things are looking really good in general. You’ve got some powerful allies, a decent arsenal, a nice camp, and best of all, no one important is dead! You mean, err. Not to slight anyone who was killed, but they weren’t…exactly anyone you knew too well. You’re just relieved nobody you invited to your birthday party last month was on that list of corpses.

Since PM left, you’ve been working your way through the list of your classmates, searching for suitable allies. Tavros was a big point of contention: a good, honest guy in your opinion. Rose agreed, but also wanted to add the phrase “tactically useless” to the description. She, as usual, convinced you she was right and you were not.

“So, how about Aradi-shit.” You swallow. “Okay, skip right ahead to Gamzee. What do you think, Rose? I think he could be pretty dece-”

Rose bolts to her feet, her gun trained onto the brush. You nearly fall back onto your ass. “What?” you exclaim.

“Shhh.” Rose hands you the pistol. “ _Hammer,_ ” she mouths. “ _Someone there._ ”

Shit. You swap weapons with Rose. She walks past you and into the trees, while you keep your gun a few inches to her side. If someone leaps out at Rose, you can shoot them. Maybe. It’s getting fairly dark, and you need to clean your glasses.

Rose takes about a dozen steps before something swift and dark is upon her. The fight lasts only moments. Rose raises her arm to swing, but a lithe hand slips onto her bicep and twists. You yell and take a frantic shot, but it goes wide, the sound echoing like thunder in your ears.

Pain flashes across Lalonde’s face, and when she tries to hit her attacker with her free hand, the decidedly feminine opponent twists her arm further until Rose is on her knees. From behind her skirt comes a pale, well-shaped leg, and the kneecap of that leg hits Rose’s eye with a crack. With a spin, the attacker pulls a groaning Rose into her grasp, wrapping her arm around her neck and pointing her gun at you.

Simone Frost steps out of the shadows. She just beat the shit out of Rose. And now she’s holding her hostage.  
  
  
  
“Drop the gun, darling,” Snowman says in a silky whisper. “Or I’ll open a few new holes in you and your pretty little girlfriend.

You don’t take the gun off Snowman, but you don’t think you could reliably hit her without accidentally shooting Rose by mistake. Damn it. _Damn it!_

“We have allies,” you reply as steadily as you can manage, trying to control your racing heart and the pounding of a little voice in the back of your mind that wants you to empty your entire clip into Simone. “They will have heard the gunshot and be along shortly.”

“Oh, I know.” Snowman squeezes Rose’s throat, and as the blond turns purple in her grasp, she spins to put her back against a tree and points the gun not at you, but at something to her right. “Your ambush will not work, Pandora. Enter the clearing now.”

PM emerges from the trees, snow-white hair dripping wet and naked from the waist up. No, no, strike that- she’s got her shirt hastily tied around her breasts, the bloodstains faded by water. She’s still wearing her skirt, but no shoes. She’s a great looking girl, or would be, if it weren’t for…all of that.

Her body looks like it’s been through a meat grinder and three crucifixions. Horrible scars of a dozen varieties decorate it, including what looks to be a longhealed bullet wound on her shoulder. You finally understand what Rose meant earlier. Pandora is not like you or your friends. She’s something new, something different. You aren’t certain if you like it.

“Sorry for taking so long,” she says breathlessly to you. “I threw on clothes for some reason. Should have skipped that step, I would have been here in time to prevent this.”  You feel your cheeks warm at the thought of an entirely naked PM.

“You’re making the baby boy blush,” Snowman purrs. “I can see him reddening now. How did you know I was coming? No, don’t tell me. You were bathing in the stream, so you must have a collar tracker that alerted you of my presence. You put on your clothes and sprinted here. But you couldn’t bathe and monitor the tracker at once, and John said he has ‘allies’, plural, so who is the fourth?”

“Let Rose go, and I’ll tell you. I might even let you live.” There’s something strange and alien to PM’s voice now- it’s monotone, you realize. Just one flat note, almost mechanical.

Hell, everything about her is subtly different. Her posture is straighter, making her look taller and more intimidating. Her eyes are narrowed, honing in on Snowman like cruise missiles. That tired  little grin she usually wears is gone, replaced with a cold and focused frown.

This is not the PM you are familiar with. Not even a little.

Snowman’s eyes flash dangerously, and without warning, she knees Rose in the back of the leg. Rose gasps and nearly buckles, pushing herself even further against Frost’s arm. You feel a hot rage course through you, all of it focusing into your trigger finger. “Stop it!” you shout, a little louder than you meant to. “Stop hurting Rose, or I will…I’ll fucking kill you!”

“…There’s no need to shout,  baby boy.” Snowman doesn’t even look at you. “The little girl was thinking of trying to get out of my grasp. She was trying to shift so that she could kick my leg out from under me. I was just showing her what a bad idea that was. Of course, it wasn’t a terrible plan. Her escaping would be the only way you could beat me.”

Snowman pivots her gun and points it at you. “Dead, and you can’t reliably hit me without hitting the little girl. Then…” she gestures with the shining weapon at PM. “Even you cannot close the gap quickly enough. Dead, too. Thirdly, a swift snap, and the little girl is dead. Your ally, whomever they might be, will not be able to trouble me.” She flickers her glance towards you for one horrifying second. “Drop your arms, or I kill all four of you.”

She’s serious. And she’s right. Three of you, one of which is a hyper-competent murder machine, and you haven’t the slightest chance against Snowman.

PM drops her machete first, and after some hesitation, you put the pistol down. “Baby boy, take three steps back,” Snowman orders, her voice swelling with pleasure. “Pandora, three steps behind him.”

As PM walks past you, you look in her eyes, trying to glean some kind of signal, some kind of instruction. Nothing. She barely even pays you a glance. Snowman lets Rose go and pushes her towards you. You reach out to catch her, and she falls into your arms hacking and coughing. “Rose! Are you alright?!”

  
“Couldn’t…breathe…” she manages, panting and barely able to support herself. You had half-hoped she would subtly grab Casey’s gun off the ground and then pivot and shoot Snowman really bad-ass style, but…it’s easy to forget that Rose is just a girl. A middle school student, not the professional killer she’s trying to be.

It’s so unfair! PM and Snowman are so far above Rose, and she in turn utterly outclasses you. You can’t do a damned thing. All you can do is make sure Rose doesn’t fall.  
Maybe that’s enough.  
  
You turn your attention to Snowman, whose glance has flickered to the end of the clearing. “There’s your fourth,” she says. “Come out, Casey. I won’t hurt you or your friends unless you try to run.”

Slowly, Casey emerges and joins the rest of you in the circle. In her hands is the collar tracker. She limps with each step; her leg still has a hole in it, after all. She’s trembling a little, but not much more than usual. Either she’s learning to control her fear, or she’s not that afraid. You’re scared shitless of Snowman, but…who knows what Casey is thinking behind those big eyes?

“Put the tracker on the ground face down, there’s a good girl,” says Snowman, her voice a bit softer than usual. “Now then, you’re going to hear my terms.”

“I thought you were just going to shoot us,” says Casey, standing up from following Simone’s order. “What do you want?”

“Alliance. And a warning.”

Rose laughs from between your arms, but you’ve heard more humor in a screech of rage. “Alliance with you? Don’t go into business, Simone. The approach is everything.”

“Not with you, little girl.” Snowman gives a slight head jerk in PM’s direction. “The woman who has thought of six or seven way to close this gap and kill me. Unfortunately, all of them involve at least two of you three dying.”

“Eleven ways,” PM replies, fists clenched. “And I’d like to echo Rose’s sentiment.”

“Are you certain? You’d rather stick with these children?” Snowman chuckles. “You are far too strong for that, Pandora. Look at you, your body is a warrior’s body. We are the same, you and I. Killers. Survivors.”

PM bites her lip uncomfortably. Her eyes are starting to widen again, but only a little bit. She’s firmly in…in…

Battle Mode. That’s what you’ll call it. Still in Battle Mode.

“No,” she says finally. “I will not ally with you, Simone Frost. I know your type. I am a sword, and a blade is a terrible responsibility. I wouldn’t trust you with it.”

Snowman gets a new smile. Wider, more gleeful. Amused, maybe even excited. You don’t think you’ve ever been so afraid in your entire life. “A shame. Your session is my all-time favorite- no offense to the little girl, but Roxy was not the most interesting competitor in her game. You, PM, killed my all-time favorite player. Jack Noir was the greatest I have ever seen, and you killed him. You. I’ve watched that sword fight a thousand times, I’ve shrieked at my television when the two of you went over that cliff. Imagine my surprise when a girl with the same initials and vaguely similar features transfers into _my_ class, and her body could only be the one of a game player. ”

  
PM doesn’t react immediately. “Simone, a couple of things. First, if you ever utter that name again in my ear shot, I will cut your heart from your chest and show it to you. Second, only my friends call me PM. I’m Pandora to you. Cunt.”

“Fair enough.” Snowman nods, accepting the threat as if it was fact. She points her gun in the air, instead of at you. You feel a surge of relief. “Take your weapons back, then. First, little girl. Your hammer.”

“It’s John’s. And my name is Rose.” Rose pulls herself out of your grasp and stands back, glaring at Simone with her right eye while covering her increasingly red left.

“Baby boy.” Snowman bends down and tosses the hammer at you. You catch it with both hands, thankful that you didn’t drop it and make a complete ass of yourself. You tuck it back in your belt. “Now the machete. Pandora, do not pick it up.” She expertly tosses the blade to land just out of reach of a dive. “Lastly, the pistol. Pick it up, little girl.”

Rose does just that. She seems to consider pointing it at Snowman, but evidently decides against it.

“Now that you know that I am serious, I may deliver my warning. My beloved Slick will be here to kill you, inevitably. If you are not accepting of my help, at least know this: he and his friends will brutalize every single one of you still breathing. If you want to have any hope of victory, kill them on sight…and bolster your numbers, you’ll need it to fight him.”

“Spencer?” Rose, her right hand covering the eye that got a kneeful of Snowman and her right full of pistol, inches to the side a bit. “A danger, certainly, but I think you might be engaging in hyperbole. He’s shorter than I am.”

“He has killed before.”

You frown. “Who did he, uh, do in? It wasn’t Aradia, right, she and Droog had that thingy a while ago…”

“I did not say Slick killed _during_ this game.” Snowman pauses, letting the words hang in the air. “Oh yes. Something you and he have in common, Pandora. You both were murderers before you got here.”

You can’t believe it. Sure, Spencer Slick was bad news. Anyone with eyes could see that. He smoked behind the school, skipped classes, vandalized lockers, occasionally came in with nasty-looking cuts and bruises on his face…but a murderer? That was absurd. Absolutely absurd.

Yet somehow, you had no doubt that Simone was telling the truth.

“And you, Simone?” asks Rose. “I think you’ve taken lives before, too.”

“Why is that?”

“The same eyes.” With her free hand, Lalonde traces a link in the air between Frost and Merriett. “You two have the same eyes.”

There’s a moment of tense silence. Casey coughs. “Um…so, maybe the guns can be put awa-”

A lot happens very quickly.

Snowman dives, though you can’t see where or why. PM shrieks a single word- “ _grenade_ ”- and throws herself on the ground. Rose looks around wildly, and probably at the same time as you, spots the green sphere twenty or thirty feet in front of you.

Somehow, you have the wherewithal to grab Rose and pull her under you.

The explosion is kind of like a gunshot, but bigger. Not louder, just larger in breadth; a bullet’s older brother. A wave of heat washes over you, making you feel for all the world like a patty on a grill. Something fast and cruel whizzes above your head, and something else bounces off the ground and past your cheek.

No, _through_ your cheek.

You gasp as sticky blood starts warming the left side of your face. It’s a surgical cut, deep and thin and concentrated in how much it hurts. Rose is squirming under you, and you think she’s saying something, but everything is really really quiet.

A hand on your back, it’s PM with the machete and the gun yelling something, and even if you can’t hear you can read these simple words:

_“Follow”_

_“Bring”_

_“Rose”_

_“Quick”_

You pull Rose into your arms, aware you can see almost nothing. A cloud of grey smoke surrounds you, obscuring your vision, and your glasses smeared against Rose’s hair and the ground. You’re lucky they didn’t break.

PM heads to the center of the camp, grabbing a duffel bag and puts over your head; you’d hold it, but your hands are full of dazed, semi-conscious Lalonde. She’s lucid enough to shout a single word, though:

“Casey!” Rose cries, reaching out for where she had been standing. PM, who has slung two duffel bags over her shoulders, nods in understanding. She disappears from view.

Moments later, she returns with the collar tracker in her hands. “Let’s go!” She shouts.

“ _Not without Casey!_ ” Rose bellows back.

Gunshots split the air, and you ignore Rose’s attempts to escape as you follow PM. Somehow, you find yourself in the brush, near the opposite end of camp. There’s still a lot of smoke, but you can hear voices: masculine, rough voices. Your hearing slowly returns, so you missed the first few statements of what they said.

“Anyone get Snowman?” one barks.

“We didn’t get anyone,” another voice replies. “They scattered.”

A third voice, huskier than the first two, speaks up. “Nah, lookit. Someone got left behind.”

“I think it’s Casey! Hi Casey!”

The smoke from the explosion begins to dissipate, and you can make out what’s going on.

It’s Spencer Slick and all his friends. He’s got a knife. Droog’s got a big gun. Boxcar’s got a bigger gun. Deuce…Deuce has got grenades.

And they’re trampling your campsite. You pull your head back some. “PM, what do we do?” you ask urgently. “Shouldn’t we run?”

“No,” says Rose sharply. “Casey is still back there. Put me down.” Without thinking, you do so.

“Don’t run out there, Rose. You’ll do no one no favors by being blown away.” PM sniffs. “We ought to go.”

When she speaks, Rose has a chill to her voice that is unlike any you’ve ever heard before. “If you are going to abandon her to die, you at least owe her the kindness of watching it happen.”

PM and Rose lock eyes for a moment, your best friend and your best hope only inches from being at one another’s throats. The moment subsides as Slick steps forward, his dark eyes affixed on the downed Casey.

“Heya Casey,” Spencer says. “That’s a nasty lookin’ cut ya got.”

It really is. A piece of shrapnel shredded Casey’s side, opening her from hip to breast. It’s bleeding pretty badly, and Casey’s breathing is a ragged labor. She’s sitting on the ground, holding it, but blood is soaking through her fingers and making them slippery. “I-it hurts,” she says weakly. “It hurts a-a lot.”

“Ain’t nothin’ but flesh,” says Slick. “I got a scar a lot like the one that’d leave, actually. I got a bad habit of playin’ with knives. ‘Nyways, I’m gonna kill you now.”

Casey’s eyes widen. “No. N-no, p-please don’t. Please.”

“Only one winner, Casey-girl. Wouldn’t be you even if I let you be; you’re hurt and little and unarmed. Your friends bolted on ya. You were dead the second they gassed you and put you on this island, the rest’s just been some cruel joke.” Slick sniffs ruefully. “I hate that shit, it’s the kinda thing Simone would find funny. I don’t like stabbin’ folks ‘less they piss me off, and you ain’t doing that, so this’ll leave a bad taste in my mouth.”

“You’re wr-wr-wrong. Rose is with me. Sh-she’ll save me. And John! And Pandor-and PM! They’ll s-stop you.” Casey nods, and you feel like someone just punched you in the heart.

PM doesn’t move or say anything. She’s still stuck in Battle Mode. Her fingers drum against her machete. _Da-dum da-dum da-dum_.

Rose is quivering. You move to hold her hand, but she darts her arm away. It isn’t fear or pain that’s making her shake.

Rose Lalonde is shaking with rage.

Slick nods back almost sympathetically at Casey. “Well, better do it fast ‘afore they come back. Droog! Gimme that grease gun of yours!”

“You heard her,” Droog replies from a bit further back. “Miss Merriett i out and about. I am not running afoul of her without a large firearm in my hands.”

“Aw, stop it, ya flowery prick. It’ll only be for a sec.”

“We need to conserve ammo, Slick. This thing is a semi, you know how they are. We’ll be out of slugs before the clock strikes midnight at this rate.”

“Fuckin’…fine! Do it the hard way.” Slick kneels down next to Casey and twirls the butterfly knife between his fingers. “Now don’t move too much, Casey, else I might miss the important bits and gotta try again. Stay as still as possible and it won’t take half a tick, ya know?”

“Spencer, please…” Casey pleads, but it’s too late for that. The butterfly knife twirls, Slick darts behind her with a speed you weren’t expecting, and a crimson arch spatters the ground in front of Casey.

 

She collapses forward, gurgling and eventually immobile.

Eventually.

Rose shrieks, something primal and visceral and horrible. A scream of hate and fury and vengeance. She takes two steps forward, hands clenched into pale fists, before PM chops her on the neck and knocks her senseless.

“Grab her and run,” she says tersely. You do just that, pulling the semi-conscious Rose over your shoulder so that her abdomen is against your shoulder.

“Get outta here, Lalonde! Get bent, Egbert!” Slick shouts from behind you. “And I look forward to dancin’ with you, Pandora!”

You and PM run as fast as you can.  Never mind the pain on your cheek. Never mind that there’s a big bruise on your leg from when Rose hit it with a stick. Never mind the hundred-twenty of pounds of Rose and fifteen pounds of duffel bag you’re carrying. Run.

No gunshots follow you. There’s no need. They’ve beaten you.

 

Your name is Simone Frost, and all of this is better than expected.

You didn’t know Pandora would be with those two children, but she was, and you have no doubt she escaped Slick and his friends alive. You had hoped to trim your competition without expending ammunition by siccing Slick and company on whoever you ran into, and perhaps for them to kill or injure a member of Slick’s gang. Pandora was an added bonus, an enormous one that outweighs your original ends.

Now she and Slick will battle, your two true competitors warring to rip one another’s heads off almost immediately. You can step up the rest of the plan by several steps thanks to this happy coincidence.

Whoever wins will be so weakened that all you have to do is finish them off. After that, the game is yours.

 _God_ , this is so much fun.

END OF CHAPTER NINE


	13. Intermission One

Salamancer is dead, then? That took longer than expected. I’m glad I didn’t put any money on her living through the day. Right, focus the monitoring on her group, I want the cameras to get Miss Lalonde’s reaction.

…A phone call? While I’m working? Hmm.

…Hello? Ah, yes, it’s you. How is your outfit?

…Whose blood? Oh dear. No no, well done, but you need to get to soak your dress and get it to the dry cleaners immediately. That fabric is not washable, dear, we both know that.

…There is no need for such coarse language. Calm down.

…I can’t see your fingers, but I will take your word for the gesture you are making with them. Listen, as engrossed as I am listening to your always-endearing foul mouthed shtick, I really need to get back to work. Do you have business, or is this a courtesy call?

…He did what? Are we really ready to proceed? We still haven’t asserted ourselves into the Defense Ministry properly, how can we guarantee military supp-

…Uh huh. And our lord is certain of this new general, then? Well, that’s lovely news. I suppose we can proceed then. One moment.

Boys, I’m going to go take this call outside. I won’t be a minute.

…Alright, I’m on my cell. The line is safe on my end. Yours?

…Good to know. This is the crucial moment of the operation, my handmaid. We must not make even the slightest mistake. The Empress has held onto her seat for a very long time for a reason, you know. We make one small misstep and it’ll be us hanging by our wrists a thousand feet below ground. Need I remind you what happened to the last two men who tried to overtake her?

…You are right, I am being paranoid. That said, I rather like my job and would prefer not to spend the autumn of my life being a guinea pig for the Empress’ newest and most creative tortures. I am sure both you and our lord can say the same.

…There is no need for such a saucy tone. If I could help, I’d be there in a moment, but I have an important job to do here. The Program is essential to our machinations. Feferi Peixes, the last Imperial heir? Dead. We’ll get Miss Merriett, that cheeky little thorn in our side, too.

…So what if she wins? We’ll shoot her and call it a suicide. Nobody’s going to look very closely. Oh, and speaking of dead players, Aradia Megido is already out as well. You owe me fifty caegars.

…Please stop cursing. I know she reminded you of your favorite from last year. I agree, it’s a shame Damara lost. She could have taken your job when she was a bit older. She was already a younger version of you in a lot of respects, my dear handmaid.

…Right, right, we are getting off-topic. When is the meeting?

…Tomorrow evening, I see. Yes, I dare say we are clear to move. Tell my lord I look forward to seeing him take his rightful place as the true ruler of the Empire.

…It isn’t ‘sucking up’ if it’s true, my dear. I have a job that needs doing, and so do you.


	14. Dead Weight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fourth picture in this chapter is the work of curvedcat, AKA ellinorsstuff.tumblr.com! Big thanks to her for the guest art!

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and you are going to kill every one of them.

Desmond Droog. Harvey Boxcars. Cole Deuce. Spencer Slick. Dead. Dead. Dead. _Dead_.

Add Simone Frost to that list, now that you think about it. She led Slick’s crew straight to you- there’s no way they could have hit you so hard and fast otherwise. That was a coordinated assault, and if Simone hadn’t given away your locations, you might have had a chance. Maybe not to win the fight, but to at least escape without any losses.

You did lose someone, though. You lost Casey, who you’ve been friends with since before you could walk. She was kind and good and meant no harm to anyone, and she died. She died with hot blood streaming from her neck and eyes milky with tears. She died in terror and betrayal, thinking you had left her behind to die.

And you had. But you didn’t want to. This isn’t your fault. It’s someone else’s.

The moment John sets you down and you’re able to get your feet under you, you charge at Pandora and pin her to the closest tree by her bare neck. For a moment, neither of you say anything. She looks at you, eyes cold, and you return the gaze with your left eye only. You can’t see out of the right very well at the moment.

“If you are that unhappy about my choice for new campsite,” PM says gingerly, “I am open to discussion on the matter.”

“Fuck you,” you snarl in a voice barely yours. “You left Casey to die.”

“Casey left herself to die,” PM corrects. “I didn’t stop her from getting up and running away.”

“But you knew she couldn’t on her own. She was wounded and stunned. You, Pandora, were supposed to keep her safe, same as John and me.”

“What would you have me do?” she asks, with no yield to her tone. “I’m a good swordswoman, Rose, but I can’t fight armed men who outnumber and outgun me. I could kill one of our attackers, maybe. A maximum of two. Then they’d slaughter me, the two of you, and Casey anyways. Would that be better, Rose? Martyring ourselves for some dead weight?”

For a moment, everything stops. Your hand stops trembling, your eye stops hurting, and your teeth stop clenching. “What did you just say?”

“Dead. Weight. Couldn’t shoot, couldn’t fight, couldn’t even move very much on her own accord. Worse than useless, she was actively slowing us down.” PM sniffs. “I hate to agree with that son of a bitch Slick, but he had the right of it. Casey Salamancer was dead the moment they gassed her and brought her to this island.”

“Shut up. Shut up! _Shut up!!!_ ” You’re yelling, you don’t remember wanting to yell. How dare she, this machine of a girl, powerful and unyielding like steel. How dare she talk about a life, about _your friend_ , like that? Your hand clenches on PM’s throat, choking her, choking those bilious lies in her throat-

But then she twists your arm and her leg buckles yours, and the next thing you know you’re face down in the dirt, arm twisted behind your back, PM above you. Your hand is pressed against her bare belly. You squirm and struggle, but there isn’t way out.

“Back, John!” PM calls. “I’m not hurting her, just restraining her.”

“Nevertheless,” John says in a distant voice. “PM, please don’t do that to Rose.” You hear the gun cock. “Please.”

“Children,” PM mutters, and she releases your arm. “You’re both acting like children. Do you think this is a game? A field trip, perhaps? Did you think we’d run into a classmate once or twice, I’d kill them, and then you could go home to your parents? You are fighting for your lives, right this very instant. Not only that, you’re losing. The two of you are going to toughen up. No more temper tantrums, no more games. Tomorrow morning, you two are going to become survivors, whether you want to or not.”

You don’t want to get up. You’d rather stay here for a moment. Or, strike that, fall asleep and wake up in your bed at home, because this is all a bad dream and Casey isn’t dead and you didn’t see a girl get her head cut off earlier today and your face doesn’t hurt and-

There’s a clatter as three objects fall to the ground in front of you. “Water bottle, hammer, collar tracker,” says PM from above you. “Get up and go into the forest for an hour or two. Cool off and come back when you’ve decided you want to live. Do you understand, Rose?”

You snatch the stuff off the ground, pull yourself to your feet, and storm off without looking at PM. John grabs your shoulder when you pass him. “Rose,” he says urgently, “be careful, alright?”

“…Yeah. I will be, John. Don’t worry about me.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

The sun is all the way down, and being late spring, that must mean it’s pretty late. Scratch hasn’t made his announcement yet, so it can’t be midnight yet. You’d guess it to be somewhere between ten and eleven o’ clock, but there isn’t any way to certain. You should head back.

To be honest, the time doesn’t matter much. Hours and minutes are important to people with things like school and work and friends and curfews. Furious as you are with her, Pandora’s right. Your life revolves around survival now. Fighting and betraying and killing and whatever else must be done to hold onto what you are realizing is something increasingly fragile: your life.

_Head falls to the ground_

_Body follows half a second later_

You must be so adorable to them. Sharpening a stick, swinging a hammer, getting your ass handed to you by Simone…no, Rose, you aren’t as tough as you think you are. You’re a fifteen year old girl who wishes she was as smart and in-control as people think she is.

You wish you were angry. You wish you could scream and punch a tree and that would make you feel better. It won’t and it can’t. You aren’t furious. You’re helpless. A big difference.

You take a long drink from the water bottle- your throat’s dry and raspy. You can’t rely on Pandora for protection. She’s a great fighter, but even she isn’t invincible. You aren’t sure how much you can trust her, either. You still have a few doubts that she is what she says she is- what Simone said was more than a little troubling. You wish you had watched her game so you knew what they were talking about.

Actually, strike that. You’re very, very glad you never watched a single Program in your life. Not even Roxy’s. Especially not Roxy’s.

You look down at the radar, as you’ve been doing periodically every minute or so. However, there’s something new on it now. A dot, faintly blinking at the edge of the screen. It might be John or PM…or it might be someone else entirely.

The hammer’s been secure in the hem of your skirt until now. You take the weapon in your hand, feeling its heft. Not bad. You aren’t strong enough to use it effectively when someone has the drop on you, but if things were the other way around…

You keep your feet light and your balance high as you close in on the dot. It could be a friend, maybe. Kanaya would be nice, or Dave or Jade. Nepeta would be okay, or Karkat.  
It might be an enemy, though. One of Slick’s gang, perhaps. You aren’t sure who’s playing this game to win just yet- maybe it’s Terezi or Eridan or Equius, crazy and on a killing spree. You might just be outclassed here.

When you see who it is, your body surges with a curious mix of emotions: relief, surprise, disdain, before all of them are consumed by a white-hot rage.

It’s Male Student Number 12 Ronald Impe. The one who shot Casey in the leg, the one who tried to rape her. Just as much of a culprit in her death as the man who killed her.

Something kind of funny happens as you stare at that despicable little shit from the trees. Everything around him begins to sort of melt away, going white and fading into the background until it’s no more. Just Ronald, with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, a pistol held awkwardly in his left hand, and a shoddy bandage on his right.

That’s right. John broke the little bastard’s hand- his dominant hand, too. You held Casey’s gun earlier, and it’s not terrifically easy to hold as is. Ronald can barely get his hand around his own pistol.

He hasn’t noticed you, and in the dark, he probably won’t unless you make plenty of noise. You wait for him to creep ahead a suitable distance, then gently set down the collar tracker. You move forward, quickly but carefully, closing the gap between the two of you before he can even react.

Ronald realizes you’re there moments before you throw yourself at him. You aren’t the largest, but being five foot ten has its advantages. One of them is that you’re a few inches shy of a foot taller than your “opponent”. The other is that even your slender, narrow form outweighs Impe. You get him in the stomach with your shoulder, pressing his breath from his lungs and driving the two of you to the ground.

Ronald squawks as the two of you struggle in the dirt, fighting for his pistol. “Fuckin’ hell!” he shouts, pointing the gun almost at you and firing. The shot is like a thunderclap only inches from your ear, but it doesn’t hit you. It doesn’t even nick you.

You catch Ronald square in the face with your fist, your spindly fingers crunching against his nose. The hand with the pistol spasms up and he hits you in the face completely by accident. You expect it to hurt, but strangely, you barely feel it. You are aware you have been hit, and you are aware of a pain, but all of that is shunted to the side. You have a much more important objective in front of you.

One eye still squeezed shut, you grab Ronald’s wrist and yank the gun from him. Moving quickly, you straddle his stomach, pinning him down with your weight. The gun barrel comes to rest on Impe’s forehead.

“Stop struggling,” you say quietly, “or I will shoot you in the forehead and you will die.”

Ronald’s snarls and struggles stop abruptly. “Okay, okay! Whatever you say, Lalonde,” he says, his nasally voice muffled by his bloodied nose. “Just…just don’t shoot, alright?”  
“Why shouldn’t I? You didn’t hesitate earlier, did you?”

“What…? The fuck are you talking about?”

You lean in, your eyes boring into his. You note, with bloody satisfaction, that he’s terrified. Scared to death of you. “Casey Salamancer, you scum. You shot her in the leg. Tried to rape her. Did you think you’d get away with that without penalty?”

Ronald’s eyes flash. “I didn’t…how could you know that? You didn’t…you didn’t kill her, did you?”

You punch Ronald in the face again. There’s a crack as his nose splinters and breaks, and he grabs his face with his unbandaged left hand. “Look at me,” you say. “Stop crying and look at me. Three seconds, or I shoot you.”

Eyes blurry with tears of terror and pain, Ronald looks at you. You feel a bit odd. Ordinarily, you’d have sympathy. You’re doing to him what Simone did to you

_Throat constrained_

_No air_

_God does your eye hurt_

_She’s going to kill you all_

The difference between you and Ronald is that you had done nothing. Ronald attacked and tried to force himself upon an innocent young woman. He deserves this. He deserves worse than this.

“Look in my eyes…eye.” Ronald complies. “Casey was killed by Spencer Slick. She would have been able to escape him, were it not for _your_ bullet. You are complicit in her death, you rapist pig.”

“I didn’t…I didn’t want to kill her…”

“You tried to kill my friend John, in addition. You fired your gun at him, with murderous intent. You aren’t a rapist, Ronald, I was wrong in saying that. And you’re not a murderer. You’re a pathetic little ball of hate whose utter loathsomeness is only exceeded by his astounding incompetence.”

Blood bubbles from Ronald’s nose, running down his cheeks and onto his lips, staining his face red. He doesn’t say a word. He just looks at you, bleeding and sobbing, the black steel barrel trained on his forehead.

You lift the pistol momentarily and fire a shot into the trees, the bullet leaving a whining sound in your ears. Ronald squeals in abject terror, and you bite your lip. Good. As it should be.

“I will let you live,” you declare, replacing the barrel onto his forehead, “on one condition. You beg me for your life. Tell me that you aren’t worth the bullet I’d have to expend to kill you, and you can live.” Ronald blanches, so you cock the hammer of the pistol. “Now.”

“P-please don’t kill me, Lalonde. You ain’t a murderer, you’re…you ain’t. I fucked up, I know, but I was scared, I knew I didn’t have a chance of winning. I just…I don’t know why. I’m pathetic, you’re right, but that doesn’t mean I want to d-die. Don’t be the one to kill me, Lalonde, I’m begging ya. You don’t have to, just take my gun and let m-m-me go. Let someone else do it, you don’t need my blood on your hands. Save the ammo, you’ll need it. Just don’t kill me. Please, I’ll do anything.”

You stare at him unflinchingly. “You are right,” you say slowly. “I have no need to kill you. You’ll be dead in short order, anyways.”

“Y-yeah! C’mon, Lalonde, I’d even off myself. Just don’t kill-”

Ronald stops in mid-sentence when you put a bullet between his eyes.

The bullet makes little noise, since the barrel was pressed to his forehead. You pull the barrel back, otherwise it might sink into the new bullet hole.

Ronald gurgles some sort of malformed word, and you fire again, this time through his mouth. “Shut up,” you say. “Shut up, shut up, shut up, _shut up!_ ”

A third bullet explodes his nose, a fourth his left eye, a fifth into his cheek, a sixth through his forehead again, a seventh into his upper lip, and an eighth shot just below his hairline.

The gun clicks a few times, and you realize the clip’s empty.

\

Ronald’s head is an unrecognizable mess, each bullet hole smoking with gunpowder burn.  Only his right eye, glimmering with tears and frozen in terror and confusion, remains relatively unscathed.

You’ve got blood all over your face, shirt, and right arm. You wipe the blood away from your right eye, your good eye. Slowly, you stand up and walk over to the collar tracker. Keeping your blood-matted hair out of your face, you notice that Ronald’s dot has disappeared…but two more dots are closing in fast.

No time to get ammo from Ronald’s bag and reload. You point your pistol in the direction they’re coming in. Hopefully you can scare them off and make a tactical retreat back to camp.

One of them enters, and you cock the pistol. “Turn around and leave,” you say, “if you would like to continue breathing.”

“…Rose?”

Oh. It’s just John. “Rose, are you alright?” he asks anxiously. “Is that…is that a corpse?”

You lift the pistol so the barrel’s in the air. “Ronald Impe, yes. This gun was his.”

“So you…Jesus Christ!” John recoils as you walk closer, no doubt noticing the gore that’s covering you. “Are…are you alright? We heard gunshots and we came running…”

“I’m doing great, John,” you reply serenely. “Just great.”

“How many times did you shoot him?” It’s PM, machete in hand.

“I unloaded the remainder of the clip…eight shots, I think.” You smile calmly at her. “They ship the bodies back to families, right? I didn’t want him to have an open casket.”  
“Actually, I think they burn them.”  PM’s gaze is steely, questioning, but not necessarily disapproving.

“Well, I’ll remember that in the future.” You pick up Ronald’s duffel bag and sling it over your shoulder. “We have a second gun now. That’s perfect. Oh, speaking of weapons…” you stick your hand under Ronald’s bloody vest and pull out the hammer. “I seem to have misplaced this during the struggle. John, it’s yours.”

You hand it to him, and he hesitantly accepts it. “We should go,” you tell the two of them. “If the shots drew you, they might draw more people.”

John just stares at you. You turn your eyes to Pandora. “Oh, one last thing. PM, you’re absolutely right. John and I have not been taking this game seriously enough.” You vaguely gesture to Ronald’s corpse. “I’m ready to change that. I’d like you to show us how to play, come tomorrow.”

“Yes. Absolutely. Glad you agree.” PM’s eyes slowly widen and her face cracks into a grin. “Good to hear it.”

PM’s smiling, but John looks like he might be sick. “Rose…are you sure you’re okay?”

“I told you, John,” you say as you turn your back on them and start to walk back to camp, “I’m perfectly fine.”

END OF CHAPTER TEN


	15. She's Already Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ellinorsstuff.tumblr.com provided the first picture for this chapter. Thanks a bunch!

Your name is Jade Harley, and you haven’t slept.

Vigilance, that’s the name of the game. You’re a deer in the forest, and Men With Guns are about. You need to eat, you need to drink, you need to live, but you can’t do any of it carelessly. Men With Guns don’t care that you made a single, tiny mistake. Single, tiny mistakes get cute animals killed every day.

Grandpa took you hunting, and although you refused to shoot any of the animals, he still demanded you know how to do it. You’ve seen your grandfather shoot a deer and shove a knife to the hilt into the brain to put the poor thing out of its misery. You know how fragile life is- humans are no different. Your life is no different. Dave’s life is no different.

You want him to live. You want everyone to live, but it’s clear that isn’t happening. Cody and Aradia, Feferi and Stephen, Naga and Olga, and now Sollux and Ronald and Shelby and Casey, according to that horrid alarm from Scratch that went off at midnight aren’t living.  Ten of your classmates are corpses, and there wasn’t a thing you could do for a damned one of them. Their families won’t ever see them again.

Who can you even save? How can you even save them? You’re not a fool- people like Slick and his gang who are here to play are going to play. And, as much as you hate to admit it, Spencer might be right. Some people in your class could very well turn into monsters in these conditions. Someone had to kill those ten people, after all. Gamzee? Equius? That Pandora girl? Who can say?

You’ve been up for four hours now, keeping watch. You and Dave were going to do four three-hour shifts apiece, rising at noon to find a more defensible location, but you decided to let him sleep after the thankful announcement at six AM that no one had been killed since midnight. It’s not that he was close to any of them, but…Strider’s sensitive. He likes to act cool, but he’s one of the softest, nicest guys you know.

He isn’t tough like you. He needs you to protect him.

You’re getting antsy, though. Noon is too late, everyone on the island will be scrambling for cover or targets. You came upon this isolated cabin last night, but it isn’t as defensible a location as it might be: only one exit, windows on three sides, no curtains to hide yourselves. The cookware is nice, it meant you were able to make some actual food instead of the dried rations, but a concentrated assault on this place would lead to a perforated coolkid and a bullet-riddled narcoleptic.

Dave stirs on the couch and sits up. Eyes bleary, he gropes for his sunglasses. “Harley?” he croaks. “I had the worst dream imaginable. Like, the fucking puppets nightmare I had before is furiously scrawling notes in his grotesque plush notepad on how to best wreck my shit. I dreamed we were all in the Program together.”

“No dream,” you sigh, getting up and pulling a water bottle from your pack. You walk over and hand it to him. “That’s actually happening.”

Dave drinks and puts his sunglasses on. For a moment, you catch a glimpse of those crimson eyes he does so well to hide. “Really? Fuck. But hey, could be worse. I could be stuck with Vantas watching my back.”

You smile tiredly. “We should go look for Karkat and the others today. Strength in numbers, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, definitely.” He cocks a small grin in your direction. “On the other hand, we probably don’t have to worry about any assholes getting in our faces if we stay here. Not everyone on the island’s someone we can trust.”

“I know! But we aren’t safe here, Dave.” You glance around. “Not safe at all. The worst thing prey can do is stay still.”

“You’re talking like we’re being hunted.” Dave’s smile flickers. “You think?”

“…Yeah, Dave. We are.”

As if on cue, bullets shatter the windows and you dive over the couch for cover.

Dave is briefly behind you, his gun already in his hands. You scan the room for your rifle- propped up against the chair you were doing your guarding from. “Keep your voice down,” you say. “I need my gun.”

Bullets pepper through the shattered windows and even the thin walls. Of course they would- it’s a one-room cabin, not a bunker. A bullet that hits the couch may very well hit one of you. It wouldn’t be a very fast shot, but Dave or yourself being wounded is somewhere above a stray bullet breaking the rice cooker and somewhere below a shark dropping through the roof on your list of unfavorable outcomes.

“Come on, fuckers!” Shouts a high, haughty, distinctly male voice. “I know there’s a coupla ya shaggin’ in that cabin! Why don’t you show your fucking classless faces so I can fill ‘em with hot lead?”

“Oh great,” Dave grumbles, peeking up from above the couch. “Ampora. Like getting shot at’s not bad enough.”

“He has a semi-automatic, Dave,”  you say seriously, trying to work out a plan. “He’s got to spray and pray until he gets close.”

“What happens when he gets clo-” Dave looks in your eyes and tucks his head down. “…Oh. What do I do?”

You think fast. “Get up to the window and get me some covering fire. I’ll grab my rifle and put him down.”

Without another word, Dave vaults over to the couch. Staying low, he heads to one of the destroyed windows and fires three shots.

You don’t expect him to be able to hit anything. The pistol’s a decent beginner’s weapon, but he has no practice at all. You taught him the proper form last night- feet apart, knees bent, both hands on the gun- but as actually firing a gun, Dave just popped his cherry.

Which would make you the local cum dumpster? Maybe you should work on your metaphors. Trying not to giggle, you follow Dave’s lead but for the opposite window. A bullet rockets past your head, just inches from splitting your skull, and you stop.

“That you, Harley?” shouts Eridan from outside. “I shoulda fuckin’ figured. So who are ya fuckin’ in there?”

“The only one getting fucked here is you once I shove my foot up your ass,” Dave calls. “Last chance to leave, Ampora, otherwise Harley is going to the world a favor and blow up the world’s stupidest hairdo- with your head still attached.” He looks over at you expectantly, but unfortunately, you’re letting Dave down.

You can’t move. You’re too afraid.

You tell your muscles to go, but they aren’t going. That bullet was the closest you’ve ever come to dying in your entire life.

“…Jade?” Dave echoes before bullets explode past him, nearly shredding his skull. It’s a useful wake-up call. No time for fear, no time for hesitation.

Your stupid friends are counting on you.

You dive for your gun and grab it. Positioning yourself on the window, you lock your shoulder and take aim. Fifty feet off is Eridan, tall and slender and as furious as you’ve ever seen him. So angry at what’s been done to him that he’s murderous. A bit of a jerk, maybe, but you don’t wish this fate on him. Talking him down is a waste of time- you remember what happened last time. You point the rifle between his eyes and press the trigger halfway.

But only halfway. You can’t go any further. You know exactly what’ll happen if you do.

His head will split, red chunks of skull scattering behind him. His hands will go up to his annihilated head in the instant that it takes the body to realize that the brain is destroyed. He’ll fall back into the smear that used to be every hope and fear and love and memory that was Eridan Ampora and a thick red puddle will form.

No, no, never. You can’t do that to someone, not even someone who’s trying to do that to you. You pull the gun half an inch to the right and shoot. You watch Eridan stumble back, clutching his ear.

“Fuck! Shit!” He drops his gun in surprise.

You turn to Dave, urgency in your tone. “We need to split up.”

Dave sticks a finger in his ear. “I must have misheard you. What’d you just say?”

“Split up. That won’t keep him busy for long.” You take a deep breath. “We can’t stay here, but if we move as a duo, we’ll be slow enough for him to catch us.”

“No. I’m not leaving you behind, Harley.” Dave stands up. “We can waste him.”

“I won’t,” you whisper. “I won’t. I’m not a killer, Dave, and neither are you.”

His answer is heated and shaky. “I can do it. If it means keeping you safe, I’ll do it.”

“You can’t. I won’t, but you can’t. You can’t hit him with that pistol before he kills you with his semi, and you can’t possibly use my rifle.” You sniff and stand up, walking to the bullet-riddled door. “Please, Dave. Whoever he goes after can lose him. We’ll meet back here at noon, okay? Just two hours, that’s all.”

Dave takes a moment. He heads over to the couch and grabs his katana, slinging it over his back. He then walks over to you and gives you a bony hug.

“If it’s a quarter second longer,” you hear him say quietly, “You have to give me the apple juice you get with the school lunch every day until we graduate.”

You close your eyes and reciprocate the embrace. For a few moments, you don’t say anything.

Finally, you answer with a word: “Deal.” You take in his aroma- steel and sweat and crackling fire- and look at the bags. “Let’s leave the bags, they’ll just slow us down.”

“Alright.” Dave throws the door open and charges out first. He runs right and you run left, the trees on either end of the cabin your destination.

“Where the fuck d’ya think you’re going?!” you hear Eridan yell, and when you look back, he’s in pursuit of Dave.

Damn. You hoped he would chase you instead. You know for a fact you could lose him, but Dave’s skills aren’t quite as advanced as yours.

You’re tempted to loop around and give chase, but both Eridan and Dave have got about a half foot on you, mostly in their legs. You’re quickly outpaced. No choice but to go into the forest and look for your friends. Maybe you can reunite with Dave with a special surprise in tow- John or Karkat or Rose or Terezi.

Yeah. That sounds good.

* * *

It’s been half an hour, you think.

You’ve always had an excellent sense of time. You haven’t got a timepiece of any kind except your noggin, but you’re smart enough to keep track of how long has passed since you and Dave parted.

But he can’t, can he? Dave has no clue what time it is. What if he heads back too early and gets shot? Or maybe Eridan caught him and blew him away, or someone else found him and tore him to shreds, or…

No! No. Dave’s fine. He’s great. Not a single white hair on his head is so much as ruffled. Nobody’s getting hurt, especially not him.

Things are dreadfully boring in this forest, actually, which might be the worst part- the dull terror of walking around an island where there are people who are trying to kill you about. You haven’t seen or heard a single sign of human life in the past half-hour. Just the gentle chirp of insects and, of course, the dense foliage of the forest. It’s not too different from the woods that your grandpa took you hunting in, actually. The only difference is that there aren’t any large animals, other than the humans who arrived just yesterday.

That, and large animals don’t scream.

A shriek echoes from about a hundred feet off, and a chill runs down from the base of your neck to the base of your spine. There’s something so horrid about that scream, because there’s no hope in it. It’s a frenzied, primal explosion of fear and despair, unlike any you’ve heard before.

You’ll do anything to make it stop. Gripping your gun tightly, you head in the direction of the scream. It leads you to a meadow, long and narrow with dense green grass. There’s a young woman bounding her way down the field: Isabel Echidna, Female Student Number Eleven. She’s a sweet girl, fast-paced and energetic. Never your closest friend, but you’ve never heard anyone say a bad word about her. Her weapon is a fencing saber, thin and swift and probably a pretty useful melee weapon. It’s hanging from her belt.

She’s quick, too. Isabel ran track, and that gave her strong legs that move with rhythmic precision. Her thick dark hair is tucked behind her ears to keep it out of her eyes. It’s a good run. A steady run.

A futile run, for a demon is the one chasing her.

He’s massive, a looming colossus who seems to be built entirely from bone and gristle. Wild, violent hair juts in every direction away from his head, and his narrow face is affixed into a massive, carnivorous grin.

And he’s laughing. He’s gaining on Isabel with every stride of his long, horrible legs, and that cackle can only mean he’s having the time of his life. You gasp as a ten foot gap becomes nine becomes seven.

And then Isabel trips. She screams as she falls, all of her weight going to her ankle. She falls, clutching it, but tries to rise. “No, please!” she shrieks.  
Too late. The demon’s upon her. The weapon in his hand, a baseball bat with nails as long as your forearm hammered through it, swings upwards with blinding speed. Like an executioner’s blade, it comes down on the back of Isabel’s head.

The nails tear through the soft, fragile flesh on the back of the cranium, and Isabel’s head splits like a melon. A gout of blood follows the bat when it comes up, only for it to come back again and further eviscerate her skull and neck and spine.

Isabel tries to get up, but it’s futile. She’s already dead. She’s already dead. She’s already dead.

The demon hits her three, four, five times, but the first blow was fatal- Isabel’s attempt to rise a moment ago was nothing more than muscle memory in response to shock.

There’s hardly anything left of her head when he’s done, just dripping brain and sinew caught between the nails. Blood spattered the demon’s face, and as he snatches up the thin saber that Echidna had as a weapon, he looks straight at you.

Oh god. It’s Gamzee. You’d know that long face anywhere.

He smiles. You scream.

You turn tail and sprint away, your gun forgotten in your grasp. From behind you comes a thundering as Gamzee chases you down, cackling with each step.

You aren’t as fast as Isabel, and you’ve got a big heavy rifle in your hands- one that you won’t drop, you can’t drop. He’ll catch you, and he’ll kill you like he killed Isabel. Your breaths become harsh and panicked, and your eyes blur with tears.

You don’t have a choice. It’s kill or be killed. Wheeling around, you point the rifle at Gamzee and take aim. He doesn’t slow a step. You suppress your quivering and aim for his center mass. “ _I’m sorry,_ ” you whisper, and pull the trigger.

A jolt travels up your arm, and Gamzee falls. Before you know it, you’re on your knees, sobbing. “I’m sorry,” you say again. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” a female voice from behind you says. “You didn’t kill him. Further, if you did, you would have done nothing wrong.”

You look to find Female Student Number One Kanaya Maryam leaning against a tree, watching passively. “He killed poor Isabel in cold blood, and would have taken you as well had he been given the opportunity,” she sniffs. “Had your shot been a killshot, I don’t think he would have deserved such a gentle a death.”

You wipe your eyes and get a better look at Kanaya. She’s taller than you, lithe and feminine and naturally athletic. She doesn’t exercise very much, you don’t think, but she doesn’t need it to be one of the class’ better-looking people. Her hair, usually meticulously brushed and combed, is slightly disheveled, and there’s a ragged edge to her long face, but she doesn’t look much worse for wear. You wouldn’t think she was playing the game.

That is, if it weren’t for the chainsaw in her well-manicured hands.

“I…didn’t kill him?” You ask.

“Afraid not. You only nicked him. He’ll get up soon.” Kanaya doesn’t seem too perturbed by this.

You hesitate. “Are you going to try to kill me?”

“No, the opposite.” Kanaya smiles softly at you. “I’m not playing, not in the conventional sense. I’d like to keep someone who deserves it safe.”

“Someone?”

“For the moment, you.” She nods appreciatively. “I heard the screams- both Isabel and yours. She’s met with a less-than-fortuitous fate, and I only wish I could have arrived in time to prevent that. Then I heard your scream, and I knew where to look. It seems you did what had to be done.”

You look over at Gamzee’s body, and you feel your eyes well with tears again. “I was so scared. I-I didn’t want to.”

Then Gamzee’s body sits up.

It takes all you can not to shriek in terror as he pulls himself to his feet, his weapons once again in hand. “Harleeeey,” he sings. “You’ve made a big fucking mistake, Harleeeeey.” He begins advancing again, this time an inexorable march instead of his predatory sprint.

You feel the blood drain from your hands, leaving them limp and useless. You nearly drop your rifle.

“Jade, it’s time for you to go.” Maryam steps forward. “I will take care of Gamzee. You get to safety.”

You look at the taller girl, already standing over you. “But-”

“You aren’t willing to shoot him again,” says Kanaya, her green eyes trained on the advancing enemy. “I, meanwhile, have no skill with firearms. I can, at the least, stall him on my own.”

“And die,” you say fearfully.

“Perhaps. Or perhaps I kill him.” Her eyes flash with a hungry sort of danger. “Either way, I’ll shed some of his blood and let you get away. Those are good deeds in my book, whether or not I survive them. Please, Jade, go.”

You stand and look at Gamzee, who’s only about five feet away. “Don’t die, Kanaya. I have to pay you back for this.”

“You will. We’ll meet again.” Kanaya smiles gently at you. “I promise.”

There’s a million things you want to say, but no time to say them. Swallowing your thank-yous, you turn tail and run.

You don’t care what you said. You need to find Dave.

You aren’t as ready for this as you thought you were.

END OF CHAPTER ELEVEN


	16. Flashback Four: Skaia High School, Hallway

TEREZI: STOP R1GHT TH3R3

VRISKA: What? Oh, hey Terezi. How’d the math test go?

TEREZI: 1 S41D STOP

TEREZI: 1 4M 1N NO MOOD FOR SM4LL T4LK

TEREZI: SO STOP TRY1NG TO SOFT3N M3 UP

VRISKA: I have a8solutely no idea what you’re talking a8out!

VRISKA: If this is a8out the firework that went off in the li8rary, I already told you that I had nothing to do with that.

TEREZI: PR4NKS L1K3 TH4T 4R3 ON3 TH1NG VR1SK4

TEREZI: 1 DON’T L1K3 RUL3 BR34K1NG BUT 1 L3T YOU G3T 4W4Y W1TH 4 M34SUR3 OF 1T B3C4US3 W3R3 FR13NDS

VRISKA: Awwwwwwww, how sweet. I almost feel like crying.

VRISKA: And here I thought it was just 8ecause you liked my shampoo.

TEREZI: YOUR CHO1C3 1N H41R C4R3 PRODUCTS 1S UNFORTUN4T3LY 4S 1MP3CC4BL3 4S 3V3R

TEREZI: 1S TH4T L1L4C

VRISKA: It is! I’m glad you noticed.

TEREZI: YOU H4V3 TO L3T M3 BORROW 1T-

TEREZI: FUCK 1 D1D 1T 4G41N

TEREZI: 1 4M W4Y TOO 4NGRY R1GHT NOW TO L3T YOU S1D3TR4CK M3

TEREZI: TH4T W4S FORC3 OF H4B1T 4ND D1D NOT H4PP3N

VRISKA: Pyrope, what are you on a8out this time?

TEREZI: 4R4D14

TEREZI: 1 KNOW WH4T YOU D1D

VRISKA: Now that’s offensive!!!!!!!!

VRISKA: Are you seriously accusing me of 8eing responsi8le of what happened to Aradia? ARE YOU????????

TEREZI: YOU’R3 SHOUT1NG JUST SO YOU KNOW

VRISKA: Oop.

VRISKA: Well, so are you.

TEREZI: Y3S BUT 1M 4LW4YS SHOUT1NG

TEREZI: 1 KNOW YOU D1D 1T S3RK3T

TEREZI: YOUV3 DON3 4 LOT OF SH1T OV3R TH3 Y34RS BUT YOUV3 N3V3R PUT 4NYON3 1N TH3 HOSP1T4L B3FOR3

VRISKA: You don’t know that!

VRISKA: I mean, you don’t know I’ve ever put anyone in the hospital.

VRISKA: 8ecause I haven’t.

TEREZI: 1 C4N SM3LL YOUR L13S

TEREZI: 4ND TH3Y 4R3 R4NK

VRISKA: You can’t smell lies.

TEREZI: NO YOU C4NT

TEREZI: 1 C4N

TEREZI: YOU’V3 DON3 SOM3TH1NG 4TROC1OUS VR1SK4 4ND 1 WON’T ST4ND FOR 1T

VRISKA: Okay then. So drag me off to the principal’s office.

VRISKA: Unless you can’t, 8ecause you don’t have any proof, do you?

VRISKA: This is just specul8tion on your part, isn’t it.

TEREZI: 1 DO H4V3 3V1D3NC3

TEREZI: JUST NOTH1NG 4DM1SS1BL3

TEREZI: SO UNFORTUN4T3LY YOULL B3 GO1NG FR33

VRISKA: ::::)

TEREZI: DONT SM1L3 JUST Y3T

TEREZI: B3C4US3 1M NOT DON3

TEREZI: YOU M1GHT NOT F4C3 JUST1C3 FOR TH1S BUT 4S OF TH1S MOM3NT YOU 4ND 1 4R3 F1N1SH3D

TEREZI: YOUR3 NO FR13ND OF M1N3 4NYMOR3

TEREZI: TH4T M4K3S YOU JUST 4NOTH3R CR1M1N4L

TEREZI: SO 1F YOU 3V3R SO MUCH 4S PUT YOUR TO3 OV3R TH3 L1N3 4G41N 1 W1LL KNOW

TEREZI: 4ND 1 WONT BOTH3R W1TH PROC3DUR3

TEREZI: 1LL B34T YOU TO 4 PULP MYS3LF

VRISKA: ........

TEREZI: B3TT3R G3T TO CL4SS NUMB3R 31GHT

TEREZI: TH3 B3LL 1S GO1NG TO GO OFF SOON


	17. Suicide is Hard

Your name is Vriska Serket and maybe, just maybe, you aren’t quite as good at this as you thought you were.

Oh, don’t make any mistake. You aren’t giving up. You’re not going to pull a Megido and hunker down for some assisted suicide, or stick your revolver in your mouth. That’s a bitch way to go out. You’re too strong to let this game beat you.

But…at the same time, you can’t quite get her out of your head. Aradia. How she didn’t waver, didn’t show fear at all. She saw certain death and accepted it. You aren’t sure you could do the same.

Not that your death is certain! Not even close. You’re by far the smartest person in your class of blockheads, and you’ve got a damned fine pistol. You’re the favorite, most definitely.

But…the favorite doesn’t always win. Last year’s favorite was that girl with the braids and the trident, or the psycho chick with the cattle prod, or that huge bald guy who spoke in fragments. They all ended up corpses, and Rose Lalonde’s drunk-ass cousin got to go home.

And the year before that? You barely even remember what the winner looked like. Some girl with white hair. But something like a dozen of the kids in that class were killed by the same dude, and he only came in second. Second’s just as bad as thirtieth in this game.

You’ve got a better chance than anyone else. The best chance. A great chance.

But not a sure thing. You don’t want to die, not even a little bit. You want to _live_. Fuck the others, you want to _live_!

After what you did to Aradia, you formulated a strategy of laying low and letting your classmates kill the asses of one another. A damned good plan. Let the flies fight their little war, then the spider lures whoever’s left into her web.

There’s just one flaw: patience isn’t your strong suit. Especially not when you can’t sleep, and sitting still makes you feel restless and paranoid. You spent the night tossing and turning, fondling your pistol, and quietly trying to keep yourself motivated.

When the sun agonizingly rose, you did too. You tried to eat, but the food had no taste and you didn’t feel like you could keep it down. You’ve been slowly trudging around the island ever since. You can’t stand staying still any longer.

You don’t feel that great. Your stomach is killing you. Your eyes are heavy and weighted, but you don’t think you can fall asleep. The night had been cold, and you weren’t able to start a fire or find more adequate shelter than a tree. You want a bath more than anything. You’d kill for a bath.

You hear a rustling in the brush ahead, and all your bitching disappears from your mind. It’s showtime. You fold your hands behind your back, your right checking to see if your revolver is secure in the waistband of your skirt, and watch carefully.

A well-built, athletic young woman emerges from the brush. She’s a few inches taller than you, and there’s a noticeable definition to her bare arms and legs. In her hands is a cane made of some strange twisting leathery material. It’s a walking stick, but she’s using it as a blind person’s cane.

You look up at her face. A long, sharp smile that brims with teeth, blank eyes hidden behind ostentatious crimson glasses, a long thin nose, and short boyish hair that juts with dishevelment.

Terezi Pyrope. Your sister.

Her face curls upwards into an even larger grin as she approaches you. “Hey!” she says. “I wasn’t expecting to see you around!”

You open your mouth to answer, but take pause. “…Terezi, you can’t possibly know who I am at this distance.”

“You caught me!” Putting her free hand up and chuckling, Pyrope keeps advancing. “But now I do know who it is. Nice to see you, Equius.”

“Hahaha! That was so funny I forgot to laugh. Except I just laughed, so I guess I didn’t forget. That’s just how hilarious you are!” Terezi was your first friend, and for many parts of your life your only friend. You don’t bond with people too easily, but Pyrope’s been a constant in your life since neither of you could walk.

Until recently, that is.

“So how the hell are you still breathing?” you ask casually. “I imagined you would have stumbled into a no-man’s-land by this point.”

Terezi scowls. “I can still read a map, y’know. I just have to hold it really close to my face. Trust me, if anyone’s going to get their head blown off because of that particular breed of idiocy, it isn’t going to be me.”

“That’s right. You’re going to get killed by an entirely different breed of idiocy.” Now it’s your turn to grin. “And that idiocy is being in the same class as me.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No, just a statement of fact,” you boast. “We all know that I’m the best-suited to this game.”

You are terrified right now.

Terezi is one of the class’ top female athletes. She’s tall and fast and mean and she knows how to fight. Everybody in the class, from the “good kids” to even Slick’s gang, knows that Terezi Pyrope is not someone to be fucked with.

And you have no idea whether or not she’s going to try to hurt you. Her motives are inscrutable behind that massive grin and those crimson glasses.

“If you’re the best-suited,” asked Terezi slowly, “why are you so scared right now?”

“…Sorry?”

“You heard me right! I can smell your fear and hear it in your voice. You’re scared shitless! The only question is, of what?”

Involuntarily, you take a step back. “Of nothing. It’s super simple, Pyrope, everyone’s going to be a bit nervous. This is a life-or-death situation, y’know. Life for me, death for everyone else."

“Oh, trust me I know.” Terezi answers your step back with a step forward. “Well, except that last part, which is a bit more nebulous. But your fear is going past that, I think. You know that I wouldn’t tolerate a murderer. I’m not playing, not really, I’m just punishing anyone who does. So let’s play Interrogation. Vriska, have you killed anyone for any reason besides self-defense? Answer honestly.” Terezi’s grin doesn’t waver. “I’ll know if you’re lying.”

You suck air between your teeth, and then immediately regret doing it. Pyrope’s grilled you before. She demanded a confession of wrongdoing before she dragged you or any other troublemaker to the principal’s office. A waste of school resources otherwise, she always said.

Of course, that was for things like vandalizing the bathroom stalls or smuggling fireworks into the library. Not…

Not what you did to Aradia.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you answer. You were trying to be calm, but it might have come out more like stiff. “Of course I haven’t killed anyone. Like you’re one to talk, I heard you just now. You’re punishing anyone playing, present tense. As in, you’ve already started doing it.” You tap your head twice and return your ex-friend’s grin. That’s her biggest flaw, she’s always underestimated your intelligence.

Terezi throws her head back and cackles. For as long as you’ve known her, you’ve always hated Pyrope’s laugh. Mouths shouldn’t open that wide, and voices shouldn’t get so shrill. “And here I was thinking you had slept through Language Arts!” Terezi looks back down, her teeth arranged into a predator’s grin. “You’ve caught me, prosecutor. Yesterday I killed Naga in self-defense. My bad.”

Fuck. As you’ve feared, Pyrope’s not holding anything back. You had hoped she’d be playing a pacifist’s game. That way, you could get away from her and…and be away from her. You hadn’t thought that far ahead, really.

It’s irrelevant now. Terezi’s playing to win, and she’s probably just waiting for her opening to fillet you with a hidden blade.

“Wow,” you say brashly, your hands tight against the grip of your pistol. “Can I submit your hypocrisy into evidence? You have the gall to stand there and accuse me of killing someone when there’s blood on your hands?”

“Is there?” Terezi looks down at her palms. “That wouldn’t make sense. I broke her neck. But like I said, I killed her in self-defense. My finely tuned investigative instincts are telling me, meanwhile, that you killed in cold blood.” She moves forward, her nostrils flaring with excitement. “So who was it, Vriska? I know it wasn’t Cody or Naga, obviously, but that still leaves us with so many choices! For instance…Casey? Sollux? Ronald?”

You try not to show fear, try not to back away, but it’s hard. Fuck, but Terezi’s good at this. You speak, and you realize your voice is a lot louder than intended. “Shut the hell up. I haven’t killed anyone, but if you don’t stop with this stupid little roleplay scenario of yours, I might make an exception.”

“So not any of them. Only a few left, then. Olga? Stephen? No…not Feferi?” Terezi bites her lip. “Hmm.”

“This is stupid,” you snarl. “Stupid, stupid, stupid! I’m going to leave before your stupid game kills any more of my brain cells.”

You turn your back on Terezi, but as you take your first steps away from her, she says a word: “Aradia.”

A chill runs from your belly to your base. Involuntarily, a shudder escapes your lips. You look back, and Terezi’s lips have curled into a smile of triumph. “Gotcha.”

She moves forward with shocking speed, before you can turn all the way around to face her. That weird cane of hers flies up, flourishes, and smacks you in the cheek.

The force is blinding and focused. You’ve been hit with sticks before, and it’s less than pleasant. A punch to the face always has this tingling shock to it, but that feeling is so much greater when a blunt instrument is being used. It doesn’t just hurt when it hits you, it keeps hurting all the way to the ground and beyond.

You snarl desperately. No time to be a bitch and cry about your new bruise. Kill Pyrope.

You reach into the back of your skirt and finally bring out your revolver. Darting up, you point it at where Terezi is standing.

Wait. _Was_ standing. She’s gone now, disappeared without a trace.

You sit there for a moment, breathing heavily. “Pyrope?” you ask through gritted teeth, your heart trying to burst through your chest.

“Hi!” Terezi’s voice is coming from the trees. “I’m here, Vriska. Why don’t you take a _shot_ at where I am? _Ahahahahaha_!”

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up at the sound of that wretched laugh. “So now what?” you ask, trying to gather up the pieces of your shattered calm. “What, haha, what’s going to happen now?”

Her voice came from somewhere in front of you a moment ago, but now it’s to your left. She’s throwing her voice, you realize. Making her untraceable. “Now I put you on trial. Vriska Serket, you stand accused of the murder of Aradia Megido. How do you plead?”

“…Guilty. Guilty! I plead guilty, your honor. I pressed this gun of mine to her chest and pulled the trigger, and then I watched the life sap from her sad, stupid little eyes. Come on out then!” Now it’s your turn to laugh, loudly and hysterically. “Come on out and show yourself! Give me the death penalty, go on, I _fucking dare you_!”

“That is the court’s ideal sentence,” muses Pyrope’s voice from behind you. “But it cannot be carried out at this time, for the culprit is armed and dangerous. I sentence you to death, albeit with a stay of execution. I’m going to get my hands on a gun, Vriska. I’m going to find you. And I’m going to spatter the ground with your brains. I know you like scheming, so what do you think of my plan?”

“I think your plan is fucking stupid!” you shriek. “Because it means a blind sack of shit like you is going to have to get close enough to me to shoot, and I’ll have left a cylinder’s worth of lead in you before you can squeeze off a shot! So here’s my counterplan, it’s super simple! I’m gonna kill you, Terezi! You hearing me okay? I’m going to fucking murder you!”

Terezi’s only answer is her cackle, her horrible laugh that you despise so much. You scream again, curling into a ball on the ground and covering your ears. It doesn’t help- her voice goes right through your left hand, and your revolver means you can’t even adequately cover your right.

“Shut up!” you yell desperately, tears streaming down your cheeks. “Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, _shut the fuck up_!”

And she does. Eventually. her voice gets lighter and quieter as she gets farther away, but her laugh still reverberates in your ears.

You can’t get it out. It’s still in there.

* * *

You are now Tavros Nitram, and you’re a bit late to the party.

Party might be the wrong word, actually. There’s no cake and very few fun hats, just your friends and you dying horrible deaths. Whatever this sick joke is, you’re late to it.

What’s the opposite of favorite? Is it just unfavorite? That sounds wrong, but your language skills aren’t top-notch. You’ve been in speech therapy for your entire life, after all, and your grades in Language Arts are consistently lower than your ordinary B minuses.

Anyways, you’re probably the unfavorite to win this game. If someone were to make Program baseball cards, you’d be the shitty card that’s in every nine-pack. People would have like a hundred copies of you and use them for kindling.

You’ve been trying to count your disadvantages, but they appear to be too myriad for that. You walk with a serious limp, you aren’t smart at all, your weapon is a goddamn plush toy, you’re weak-willed and pacifistic, you’re only of average height and build, and what few friends you have probably wouldn’t be much help to you. You mean, Gamzee’s a really sweet guy, but he’s probably off in a field eating flowers somewhere. Jade wouldn’t harm a fly, not because she’s a coward like you, but because she’s a nice person. Aradia might have been able to help you before her accident, but you and her didn’t talk much afterwards. The point is moot now, on account of her being dead. Vriska…

You don’t want to think about Vriska.

You have one and only one advantage here: you’re great at keeping your head down. On more than one occasion, you were marked absent when you were in class because the teacher’s eyes simply skimmed over you. They actually forgot you at the campsite at the last school trip and nobody noticed you were gone for over an hour. Your natural status as human wallpaper is a sort of natural camouflage now. You spent all of yesterday hiding in a tiny shack along the coast, alternatingly eating, crying, and watching the sea. You used to love to swim, before your accident a few years back that took most of your leg strength.

You seriously considered going into the water anyways and drowning yourself. You’ve been told that drowning is a good way to die. It doesn’t hurt, it’s peaceful, and it wouldn’t mutilate your body. They’d fish you out and send you back to your parents, sopping wet but unharmed save for being dead.

You didn’t, though, obviously. _You’re too much of a coward to even kill yourself_ , says a nasty, familiar voice in your head. And that voice is right. You’re too scared to raise your hand in class most days, how could you ever be expected to take a life?

That is your greatest disadvantage of all. You could swap bodies with Equius Zahhak and swap weapons with John Rambo, and you’d still lose. Killing is such an anathema to you, to everything that is you. You hate hurting people.

And at the same time, you don’t want to die. You like living, in spite of the many things about your life that are shit. You like your sparse group of friends, you like your games and shows, you like riding horses in the summer and watching movies in the winter. It’s nice. It’s stuff you’ll miss when you’re dead.

You don’t know why you left your cottage by the sea. Boredom, maybe. Dying is bad enough, but dying wallowing in your own misery? That seems worse, somehow. You’re fully aware that what you’re doing is essentially seeking your demise, and that’s okay. Suicide is hard. Getting someone else to do it is easier, and you might actually get to see someone you like before you die.

You just hope they don’t mess up your body too much.

You’ve been stumbling through the forest, using a long branch as a walking stick to accommodate your limp. You slept fine last night, surprisingly, and have been up and about for about two or three hours. No signs of your classmates yet. You kind of wish you could find Aradia’s corpse, hopefully not too disturbed, so you could pay your respects. Of all your classmates that have already died, she’s the one you miss the most.

You don’t find Aradia. But you do hear a girl scream. Your eyes widen and you start limping in the direction of the shriek. It’s soon followed by more screaming, one of which belongs to a different girl than the one who was screaming before.

Then a loud, piercing gunshot. Then silence.

Your sense of self-preservation is strongly advising you to head in the opposite direction, but you ignore it. You’re seeking death, after all. Sounds like some death is going on over there.

You limp over, afraid that the action will be over by the time you get there. Your fears are unfounded, though. It doesn’t look like anyone’s moved in the several minutes it took you to arrive.

There are two of them: Kanaya Maryam and… and Gamzee, who’s spattered with blood. Both are holding weapons. Neither are moving.

Kanaya is standing at the ready, a chainsaw in her hands. Not like a logging chainsaw, more like the kind you’d see at the butchers. It’s only a little bit longer than her arm, but the teeth are gleaming with intense hunger. That chainsaw was meant for cutting through meat, and that’s exactly what it’s going to do.

Kanaya seems entirely too comfortable holding it. You look at her jade eyes and discover a serenity. She’s accepted what’s coming next, whatever it will be. Somehow, you don’t see it involving a friendly parting of ways.

But Gamzee looks even worse. Blood is on his face, his clothes, even in his hair. He’s swaying back and forth slightly, gently, his eyes low and soft as he looks down at his shorter opposite. In his left hand is what looks kind of like a fencing foil. In his right, trailing to the ground, is a baseball bat with industrial nails sticking through it. There are bits on some of the nails. Bits of _people_.

You stare for a moment. “Um,” you manage. “Hi, guys.”

The reaction is slight. Both look at you at the same time. Gamzee’s eyes widen slightly. Kanaya’s don’t. “Tavros,” she acknowledges. “You look well.”

“I do?”

“Well is relative in this context. Unharmed might be a better word.” She pauses. “Not to be rude, but would you mind leaving? I’m a little busy at the moment.”

“Busy, uh, with what?” You glance nervously between the two. “What’s going on here?”

“It’s a stand-off, Tavros,” Kanaya says without missing a beat, although her voice is gentle. “I’m waiting for him to move so I can kill him. Presumably, Gamzee’s waiting for the same.”

Your heart drops like a stone. Not like you had too many illusions of what was going on here, but you like Kanaya, and Gamzee’s one of your closest friends. The idea of them trying to kill each other? Friendly, helpful Kanaya and laid-back, harmless Gamzee?

But there was no doubt. Gamzee Makara, your best bro, is dripping with warm fresh blood. He’s already fought. Already killed.

“Maybe you could…” you take a moment to compose yourself before continuing. “Maybe you could tell me what happened?”

“I’ve love to, but you need to leave.” Kanaya doesn’t look at you. Her voice is so composed, it’s a bit eerie. “I cannot have you get in my way. I intend to kill Gamzee. I’m sorry if you find that objectionable.”

“I do!” you shout. “Err, I mean, I do.”

Kanaya snorts. “And why is that? Is his murder of Isabel acceptable?”

As you feared. That’d explain the blood. “I…Isabel? Gamzee m-murdered-”

“Gamzee bludgeoned Isabel Echidna to death with his bat, which is why he is covered in gore. He then began to chase after Jade Harley, who was a witness to the crime. She shot him, but only nicked his clothes. I told Jade to get away and leave him to me.” Kanaya pauses. “I’ll ask again. Is his murder of Isabel acceptable?”

No, of course it isn’t. But…there’s got to be a reason. Calm, relaxed, genial Gamzee a murderer? There’s got to be more to it than that. “No, but…have you considered that it could have been self-defense?”

“She was running away from him, Tavros. Isabel tripped and Gamzee beat her to death. It was revolting.” Kanaya runs her hand down the chainsaw, finding the rip cord but not pulling it. “There was no self-defense involved here. He killed her because he wanted to.”

You look at Gamzee, who’s remained silent this entire time. One eye is on Kanaya, the other is on you. His face is completely unreadable.

“Gamzee,” you say hesitantly, not wanting to believe it, “Is that true?”

Silence.

“He’s a menace, Tavros,” says Kanaya in a tone as if she’s talking to a child. “A danger to you and me and everyone else who isn’t participating in this sick farce they call a game. I have taken it upon myself to remove him from the equation. A bit of public service, we can call it.”

You look back at Maryam. She’s more clever than you, no doubt about it. That said, you’re not a complete moron, despite the insistence of someone who you aren’t going to think about. “I thought you weren’t playing?”

“Pardon me?”

“You want to kill Gamzee,” you say slowly. “That sounds pretty much exactly what, uh, Scratch wants us to do. Kill each other. If you kill him, you’re playing.”

“I am not!” Finally, Kanaya’s calm has cracked. You knew that couldn’t be real calm. That was her trying to be brave, and she did a really good job of it. “I’m…I’m doing everyone a favor! I don’t want to kill him or anyone else.”

“Then why are you still here?” You aren’t entirely sure what you’re doing, but you know that Gamzee won’t say a word to you so long as Kanaya and her chainsaw are hanging around. Even if he’s lost it, there is absolutely no way in hell that Gamzee would ever hurt you. At least, you don’t think so. “Gamzee isn’t attacking you. He’s just standing there. For all you know, he’s waiting for you to leave. You don’t want to hurt him, and I don’t think he’s going to hurt you?”

“Then…you want me to turn around and leave.” Kanaya shakes her head vigorously, her neat hair getting tossled in the process. “And let him get away with a brutal murder.”

“Killing him with a chainsaw sounds like a pretty, uh, brutal murder to me.” You shrug. “Kanaya, I know you don’t want to hurt him. I’m scared too. Let me take care of Gamzee. You let Jade get away, that’s plenty. I’ll handle the rest.”

“…If he kills you, I’ll never be able to forgive myself,” says Kanaya so quietly you have to strain your ears to hear her.

“He won’t. I swear.” You aren’t nearly so certain, but you’ve spent a lot of time around a person very good at getting people to do what she wants. It was natural to pick up a few tricks, and one of them is self-confidence. Pretending that you have it when you don’t, that’s how things are done. People listen to confident people. “You’ve done really great, Kanaya. Just walk away now. Help someone else.”

Slowly, hesitantly, Kanaya takes a step back. Then another. She slowly walks back to the brush, never turning away from Gamzee, never taking her eyes from him.

He just stands there, dripping blood in silence.

“Goodbye, Tavros,” says Kanaya. “Be careful.”

And with that, one of the best people you know disappears. You doubt you’ll ever see her again.

When she’s gone, Gamzee finally breaks his silence. “Tavros,” he creaks, his voice hoarse.

“Hi, uh, Gamzee.” You smile nervously, not exactly eager to get closer. But you do, limping forward several steps. “I’m…I’m glad you’re alive.”

He just blinks at you. “Tavros,” he repeats, as if unsure. “That really you, motherfucker?”

“Yeah, Gamzee, it’s me.” You run your free hand up and down your chest. “For real, I promise. Are you, um, are you okay?”

“No, man. Not okay.” Gamzee sways back and forth a bit, as if he’s going to be sick. His voice is stretched thin like the top of a poorly-constructed drum. Like any second, he’ll come apart at the seams. “Look at all this shit covering me. This…this is person on me. The fuck’d you get rid of Maryam for? Sister mighta stopped me.” Gamzee pauses, then looks at his bat. “Nah, she wouldn’t have. I’d have killed her first.”

You pause your hobble to gape. “Would you? So…she wasn’t wrong? You killed- you killed Isabel?”

“Why’d you doubt it?” His voice is suddenly loud and nasty and accusatory. “You’re that motherfucking naive? Thinking that cuz I wasn’t much for making some ugly cunt bleed and die back home that I wouldn’t get into the shit here? Where I’ll be the ugly cunt elsewise? You that dense, Tavros, my brother?”

“I…I…” You try to find the words, but all you can do is stutter. What the hell’s going on? This isn’t Gamzee. This is the exact opposite of Gamzee, a foul shadow wearing a suit of his skin. “Gamzee…I…”

“Shut up!” He roars. “You think you’re safe from me? Think that you’ve got immunity, that this bat ain’t gonna make that soft little melon of yours motherfucking concave? Dead wrong. Dead motherfucking WRONG!” The last word is shouted so loud that you jump back. Your stick loses traction against the dirt and comes out from under you, and the sudden shift in balance causes you to fall on your ass.

In a moment, he’s upon you. He’s fast, astonishingly fast. Towering over you, bloody bat raised, face propped up into a grin of madness and hatred.

“You ain’t safe!” He hollers. His voice has changed to one of glee. Just as loud, but somehow, even more terrifying. “You’re fucked, son! I’ll kill you, kill Maryam, kill Harley, kill every last motherfucker on this island and make a mountain of your broken bodies! I’ll paint pictures with your blood, I’ll hollow out your skull and drink out of it! I’ll kill you, motherfucker!”

You look up at Gamzee, tears in your eyes. So this is how it ends. No way they can send your body back if that bat is what kills you.

At least you got Kanaya out of here. And you got to see Gamzee again, for a few seconds. That’s worth something, maybe.

You shut your eyes and wait for the bat to come down.

But it doesn’t. Tentatively, you open one of your eyes. Gamzee’s frozen in place, bat still in the air, foil still at waist level, torso still rising and falling with heavy breaths, small giggles still escaping his throat. “Is what will happen if you don’t go,” his voice strained again. Now you understand: that’s fading control. The voice of a man trying to hold the leash of a massive, bloodthirsty beast. “Leave. Now. While you still can.”

“But-”

“Go! Go, go, GO!” He screams the last word at you, spittle and hot breath on your face. You grab your walking stick and scramble to your feet, limping away as fast as your bum legs can carry you.

Gamzee stands still, breathing heavily. You look back, but not for long.

Two or three minutes of frenzied staggering later, you hear a banshee’s shriek. Gamzee, again. Horrible, guttural, animalistic screaming that causes you to redouble your pace.

You can’t save anyone. Not from that.

END OF CHAPTER TWELVE


	18. Flashback Five: Skaia High School, Boys' Locker Room

EQUIUS: D —> No  
  
EQUIUS: D —> No  
  
EQUIUS: D —> For the millionth time no Nepeta  
  
NEPETA: :33 < but why?  
  
NEPETA: :33 < just work up the courage! its not so hard!  
  
EQUIUS: D —> This is the boy’s locker room  
  
EQUIUS: D —> You aren’t even supposed to be in here  
  
NEPETA: :33 < there isnt anyone else in here, and dont change the subject!  
  
NEPETA: :33 < weve b33n over this so many times! i cant believe that its gotten this bad, though  
  
NEPETA: :33 < for someone so smart, equius, youre so dumb sometimes!  
  
EQUIUS: D —> Yes e%actly  
  
EQUIUS: D —> How could I have been so stupid  
  
EQUIUS: D —> I gave up four points back there that’s ine%cusable  
  
EQUIUS: D —> This is the nadir of my soccer playing career  
  
NEPETA: :33 < bluuurg!  
  
NEPETA: :33 < its just a game, equius, it doesnt mean anything  
  
NEPETA: :33 < and we didnt even lose, we still tied!  
  
EQUIUS: D —> But their offense was shoddy at best  
  
EQUIUS: D —> A reasonably motivated chimpanzee could have e%ecuted the task of goalkeeper better than I did  
  
NEPETA: :33 < stop beating yourself up, god damn it!  
  
EQUIUS: D —> Language  
  
NEPETA: :33 < i dont even care, okay?!  
  
NEPETA: :33 < youre an amazing goalie, and just because you got distracted this one game it doesnt mean youre worthless  
  
NEPETA: :33 < just, yknow, dont get distracted again! go talk to her  
  
EQUIUS: D —> For the millionth and first time no  
  
EQUIUS: D —> I e%coriate your request  
  
NEPETA: :33 < :((  
  
NEPETA: :33 < why not?  
  
EQUIUS: D —> Because  
  
EQUIUS: D —> She’ll say no  
  
NEPETA: :33 < and how are you so sure?  
  
EQUIUS: D —> She’s never even 100ked at me  
  
EQUIUS: D —> She’s probably terrified of me  
  
EQUIUS: D —> A lot of people are  
  
NEPETA: :33 < i dont think shes afraid of you  
  
NEPETA: :33 < i asked her about you a long time ago, and she said she thought you were okay!  
  
NEPETA: :33 < and she doesnt look at anyone anymore, thats got nothing to do with you!  
  
EQUIUS: D —> The answer is no  
  
NEPETA: :33 < yes  
  
EQUIUS: D —> No  
  
NEPETA: :33 < yes  
  
EQUIUS: D —> No  
  
NEPETA: :33 < yes  
  
EQUIUS: D —> No for the  
  
EQUIUS: D —> I lost count  
  
EQUIUS: D —> Million and si%th time  
  
EQUIUS: D —> And that is the last word on the subject  
  
NEPETA: :33 < hissss!  
  
EQUIUS: D —> I will just work harder to fi%ate on goalkeeping and nothing else  
  
EQUIUS: D —> I won’t pay the slightest attention to the crowd  
  
NEPETA: :33 < even if aradias in it?  
  
EQUIUS: D —> Especially if Aradia’ in it  
  
NEPETA: :33 < …alright, equius  
  
NEPETA: :33 < you know whats best  
  
EQUIUS: D —> Thank you for trying to help  
  
EQUIUS: D —> You know how much I appreciate it  
  
NEPETA: :33 < :))


	19. A Better Man

Your name is Dave Strider, and you have lost the way.

The concept was so fucking simple: find Harley. Keep Harley safe. Two steps, that’s all that was asked of you.

You couldn’t even manage that. Where’s Harley? Lost in the forest? Being chased down by some crazy asshole with a huge weapon? Dead in a ditch? You don’t know, because you just _had_ to lose her.

You should have refused. You should have told Jade that the two of you were going to stand and fight, and you should have taken aim and put a bullet between Eridan’s eyes. There. Problem solved.

But no, a couple high speed pieces of lead and you decided to freeze up. You’re supposed to protect Jade, but you let her talk you into splitting up. You’ll be lucky to see her again, and that’s not just because she’s in danger without you.

Eridan’s persistent. You feel bullets rocket over your head and near your sides over and over again. He’s quick enough that the gap between the two of you never lengthens enough for you to get away from him.

Thrice now, you’ve stopped to exchange bullets with him from behind a tree. It hasn’t been effective. Much as you hate to admit it, Jade was right: you’ve got about as much accuracy with this pistol as you’ve got social tact, which is to say less than zero. Eridan has no clue what he’s doing, either, but he doesn’t need to with a gun like his.

Plus, you aren’t sure if you really could shoot him. Self defense, you know, but the idea of killing someone, of taking a life that does not belong to you, it doesn’t sit. You’re not a good person, but even a douche like you has a line you won’t cross.

So maybe your traitorous subconscious is making your shots go wide, or at least contributing to your hilarious lack of accuracy. Two guys chasing each other around an island, both with guns and neither with any idea how to use them? Hell, you’d watch that. Of course, being one of those guys robs the situation of its comedy.

This game’s been going for half an hour now, and you have never been happier about those long hours of cardio for soccer. You would have collapsed from exhaustion by now otherwise. The big problem, of course, is that Eridan was at those practices as well. You are a tiny bit faster, but he’ll last as long as you do. A battle of attrition isn’t feasible, especially with your single clip.

And then your gun clicks empty.

You can eloquently sum up your thought processes after that: _Shit shit shit fuck fuck shit fucking shitty shit_.

You look behind you- a long stretch of terrain, ending in what appears to be a very tiny cliff. Leap off that, press yourself against the indent, and you’ll be invisible. It’s not much, but it might work.

A bullet shatters through the tree you’re hiding behind, coming half a centimeter away from skinning the top of your head. Too close. It’s time to go.

Taking a deep breath, you sprint the hundred meters for the divot. You take a running leap and land stooping. Immediately, you push yourself back and slump against the rock wall, hands over your mouth to suppress your heavy breathing. Your gun is abandoned between your legs

Seconds later, Eridan shows up from above. You can hear his footsteps, hear him load a new clip into that goddamn submachine whatever. That thing is just unfair. Of course a douchebag four times over like him gets such a sweet piece. “Damn, Strider, all that work and ammo for nothin’,” you hear him pant. “I really thought I hadya there…fuck! Nothin’ goes right for me today. Your fuckbuddy ruined my ear, and now you cost me most of my bullets. If I lose because of you, Strider, I’ll kill you, you hear me?!”

You don’t dare move. Part of you wants to draw your katana so you can lay in wait like a samurai, but that’ll get you killed. Sound equals death. Super simple, even for someone as shit at math as you.

Eventually, Eridan takes a step back. “Wastin’ my fuckin’ time,” you hear him mutter. “Goddamn Strider with his goddamn spider legs.” He trudges off, and only when you can no longer hear his footsteps do you exhale.

Eridan fucking Ampora. Man. Never thought you’d be afraid of that guy. Well, you guess you were more afraid of his gun than him himself.

No, that’s not true. You were never a big fan of his, but you didn’t think he had that kind of monstrousness inside of him. Eridan Ampora is a douche, but a killer? Good one. And yet, when he was chasing you around, shouting how he’d blow you to bits, you believed him. He actually wanted to do that.

Damn game. You sit still for a few minutes, taking long deep breaths. Your throat dry, you stand up and brush the dead leaves off your ass. “God damn,” you rasp. “I’d pay in sexual favors for a water bottle right about now.”

One lands at your feet. “I’ll pass on the sexual favors,” says a voice. “And try not to swear.”

Oh shit. It’s Equius Zahhak.

You look up at the class’ second largest boy, who is taller and far more muscular than you. On his back is a quiver, and he has a bow and arrow in his hand.There’s blood on his vest and no readable emotion on his face. His square jaw is firmly set in that usual frown of his.

You draw your pistol and aim it at his chest. “Get back,” you threaten, “or I’ll use this. It’s a squirt gun, you’ll be all nasty and wet.”

A thick eyebrow comes up from above Equius’ shades. “Your pistol is useless now. It won’t do you any good.” He starts walking towards you, his steps brisk but deliberate.

“I’m warning you. Stop, or I’ll- I said stop! Stop, god damn it!” You pull the trigger.

Click.

Oh yeah, out of ammo.

 _Fuck_.

You look at your gun in disbelief, then at Equius, who is-

His long arm flies out with astonishing speed and crushes into your stomach. That air you worked so hard to regain is pressed from your stomach, and you go to your knees wheezing.

“You’re out of ammunition,” says Equius calmly from above you. “You only had the one clip that Stephen left in the gun. You neglected to take the ammo from his bag.”

You look up at Zahhak, your heart trying to burst through your chest. “You…killed…”

“Stephen, yes.” Equius snatches the pistol from you and walks away. He drops it against a tree and leaves it there. “Drink the water, please.” You look down at the water bottle. “It’s safe to drink, if you were afraid I did something unsavory to it,” he says. “It’s in the interest of fairness.”

Fairness? What the hell is that supposed to mean? Well, whatever it does, you are extremely thirsty and will take what you can get. You grab the bottle, open it, and down half of it in a matter of seconds.

“What’s this about, Equius?” You ask as soon as your mouth is unoccupied. “First you punch me, then you share your supplies with me. If you’re flirting with me, you’re doing a terrible job of it.”

“I am going to kill you,” says Equius politely. “As soon as you’re ready.”

Oh. Well, that’s what that is. You slowly rise to your feet, your hand going to your katana. “That so?”

“Yes. A fair fight, to the death. Winner gets the pistol and the ammo.” Equius’ massive hand goes to his back and draws his bow. “I have too much respect to kill you without giving you time to prepare yourself, David.”

“Dave,” you correct automatically. “And if you’re playing fair, why’s your bow out? Seems like you splitting my head with an arrow isn’t too different than shooting me.”

“I can’t use this bow,” Equius explains. “I haven’t the slightest idea how to shoot an arrow. I was thinking I would just sort of hit you with the bow.” Zahhak’s large, masculine hands bend the bow in the center. The wood begins to crackle under the strain. “It’s fairly weighty, I think it’ll make a suitable bludgeon.”

Maybe not in the hands of a stickman like you, but if it’s Equius? He could make a rubber ducky and half a roll of toilet paper deadly if he wanted to. Your katana might be astonishingly awesome, but…

The long and short of it is that there’s no part of you that wants to fight Equius. Not the part of you who thinks Equius is a kind-of-creepy but generally alright guy, nor the part of you who can imagine those hands plucking your head from your body like a fruit off the stem.

Actually, one part of you does want to fight. The part that wants to protect Jade is getting really riled up. _Die here_ , it’s saying, _and Jade’s all by herself. That’d be selfish as hell._

You’re inclined to agree. “So why a fair fight?” you ask, drawing your katana and being immediately comforted by the weight of the blade. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but an unnecessary risk doesn’t seem like you, Equius.”

“Very astute, David.”

“Dave.”

The corners of Equius’ mouth twitch. You’ve never seen him smile. “I have been trying to play this game prudently, and once I defeat you, I will continue to play prudently. The exception you are fortunate enough to take advantage of is that three hours, fifty minutes ago, I took my final pill. They only last four hours apiece.”

“…Pill?”

“I don’t make a point of it, David, but I am a very sick person.” Equius takes a step towards you, slapping the heavy wood of the bow into his open palm. “I have very serious anger issues that are far stronger than I. Only with some equally potent medication can I suppress that side of myself. Soon enough, I will be unable to control myself entirely. I will kill lacking in both discrimination and mercy. I don’t want that to happen,” he sniffs, “but it will. I know you are a decent and honorable man. I can grant you, at least, a death with dignity while I still have some control over myself. I will not be cruel to you, and try to make it as swift as possible.”

“Gee, thanks,” you say dryly, trying to suppress your knocking knees. “If you’re so set on not Mister Hyde-ing the entire class, then why not just, I dunno, let me go?”

“Unacceptable, unfortunately. I have a goal here, and to reach that goal, you must die.” Equius pauses. “Are you ready?”

“How much time can I buy by saying ‘no’?”

Equius nods. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

And he charges.

You put the sword up, but Equius simply goes under you. The bow swings for your leg, and you just barely have time to get out of the way. You growl and slash with the sword, which he dodges easily.

He keeps coming, backing you up further and further towards the cliff wall. Equius is unstoppable. There’s nothing you can do to counter his forward momentum, you knew that before the fight began.

So you’ll have to play smart. Your back against the wall sounds like a problem, so when you get close, you’ll dart to the side. Bro’s words echo in your ears: _your one advantage against some big motherfucker is that you’re going to be zipping around quick enough to make him get annoyed with you. That’ll make him sloppy. Don’t fight him, Dave. Let him fight himself._

Great advice from a guy who’s a way better fighter than you, but you aren’t sure if you can last long enough against Equius to see him lose his temper. He’s absurdly strong and just as careful, and while you’re faster, Zahhak’s amazingly quick for a guy who must put HGH in those bottles of milk he brings to school.

Plus, you’re tired. Eridan took you on a half-hour chase all over the island, and your lungs are still heavy with strain. That water bottle of Zahhak’s was (hopefully literally) a lifesaver, but you’re still drenched in sweat and a bit woozy. You doubt you could beat Equius at your best, let alone in this state.

In all likelihood, you’re about to die.

You have to keep fighting. You have to pull out that indomitable human spirit that guys always have in movies that’ll keep you up and in. For Jade. She made you a promise, and she damn well is going to keep it.

Equius pushes you back and back with each methodical swing and dodge. Swing, dodge, step forward. You can’t do anything to stop the pattern. If you’re right, the wall is only about two feet away from you.

Now.

Equius swings, but this time you don’t dodge. This time, you move with the swing, letting the bow glance against your shoulder. It smarts, yeah, but you’ve been hurt worse.

You slash out with your sword, and Equius can’t possibly move completely out of the way. You probably won’t win, but at least you can hurt or slow him.

Or maybe not. Shifting the bow expertly, Equius blocks with the grip, causing the katana to embed itself into the thick wooden grip. You give it a pull, but it’s stuck in there rather firmly.

“An impasse,” He declares. “That was a clever move, David, but predictable.”

“Stop calling me by my full name,” you say through clenched teeth. “If you’re going to kill me, at least don’t be such a robot about it.”

“My apologies. It won’t happen again.” Equius knee shoots out and hits you like a ten car locomotive.

The air is expunged from you again, and only your weapon being embedded in Zahhak’s keeps you on your feet. Everything goes blank for a moment, and when you look up, Equius’ muscular arm is coming up for you.

It hits the underside of your chin, and you reel as white spots flash before your eyes. A hard yank from Zahhak takes your katana from you.

Shit. You stagger back and desperately try to recover your bearings before you get killed with your own weapon. Equius, clearly having decided to subdue you before finishing you off, has left the weapons (useless in their current state) in the grass.

He’s coming right for you. Fistfight’s a problem, even worse than before- you can brawl okay, but Zahhak’s too strong and too smart for your regular roster of dirty tricks to succeed.

His huge fist goes for a cross between your eyes, but this time you’re ready. The punch zooms past your ear, and you reply to it with an uppercut of your own.

Equius doesn’t even bother to move. He lets your spindly punch hit him full force in chest, and all he does is grunt. He rushes forward and checks you with his shoulder, his leg tripping up yours.

You lose your balance and slip, falling back on your ass. Equius winds back to hit you, but before he can, you bring up your foot and nail him between the legs.

Well okay. That particular dirty trick came in handy.

While Equius wheezes in pain and keels over, you dodge past him and leap for your katana. You plant your foot and forcefully tear it from the bow. You need to end this, fast. Stalling Equius is becoming progressively more fatal- and his pills will wear off soon.

You snarl and raise the sword high. Equius is turning. Right on his head, split it like a melon. Win this.

Kill a man.

You pause for a second, but it’s too late. Your muscles are working on their own accord, and the sword’s going down. It seems that second you waited was the critical one, though, because Equius has time to move out of the way.

“Blast,” he says, circling away and around from you. “I shouldn’t have underestimated you, Dave. You’re a top-notch fighter.”

You just stare at him, panting, your chin and stomach still aching. “Now I kinda liked it better when you called me David,” you mutter. “Got used to it.”

You just nearly killed someone you weren’t sure if you wanted to kill. What the hell is happening to you?

You’re brought out of your stunned state by a loud snap. Equius has smashed his bow against his knee, breaking it in two. He puts his hands on one half of the bow and twirls the other. “Your katana has range,” he says casually, “but this will remedy that problem.”

Great. Now he doesn’t even have to get close to you. You suck in air and decide that letting Zahhak try to run you over again doesn’t sound terribly fun. That means it’s time to go on the offensive.

You charge, sword in front of you. Equius doesn’t budge until you get close, and the moment you move to swing, he looses his improvised flail.

You duck the wood that’s flying for your head and try to complete your swing. Suddenly, a brutal force flattens against the back of your head, leaving everything hazy and painful.

Your momentum is sapped. Equius dodges your half-swing and replies by bringing his foot up for your stomach. You have just enough wherewithal to dodge, but his kick nicks your side and sends a sharp pain running down your leg.

The flail was coming back, you realize. Zahhak let the bow’s shaft get behind you and then brought it into the back of your skull. You’re pretty sure you’re bleeding from the back of your head now.

Equius is on you again. He’s implacable, you realize. Nothing you can do will slow him down. All you’re doing is wasting his time and making him angry.

No. No, damn it, you will not lose! You growl and swing for Equius, but he nimbly sidesteps. The flail swings up and smacks the side of your face, sending you staggering away. Before you can so much as turn and face Equius, something sharp cuts your breath from your

throat.

The bowstring. He’s got the fucking bowstring around your neck, using it as a garrote. You claw at it desperately as the world becomes progressively more airless.

“Struggling is pointless, Dave,” says Equius calmly from behind you. “Just relax. It’ll be faster that way.”

You’re going to get choked to death and there isn’t anything you can do. Your katana, where’s your goddamn katana? Did you…oh god, you dropped it. Your airway is closed, your vision is fading, and you dropped your fucking sword.

Real nice, Strider. You deserve to die for being that careless.

You go to your knees, wheezing and fruitlessly ripping at the bowstring. You tear up your own neck, but the string is thick and cuts like a knife. No luck. You kick your legs, but they’re already beneath you. You feel your sunglasses fall off one of your ears. “You fought well, Dave,” you hear Zahhak’s voice from above you. “Stop struggling and I can finish you now. I won’t have to choke you like this. I can make it fast.”

Maybe you ought to. Nothing left to do but to surrender to your fate. Equius is the better man, plain and simple. You wanted to protect Jade, you wanted to see John and Rose and Terezi and your brother again, but…you guess you can’t. Nothing to be done.

Not struggling is easy. So easy. You slump your shoulders and shut your eyes tight, and Equius lets you fall foward.

It hurts so, so bad. You’re losing feeling in your hands, your feet. This is how it ends. Strangled to death by your goalie on some shitty island. You die a loser. A failure. A promise breaker.

Hell. No.

Your weak hands grope around for something, anything, until your right comes to rest on the thin steel of your katana. Mustering what little energy is left in your body, you grab the blade’s handle. You can’t bring it up, but you can swing it low. The blade makes a wide, sweeping arc in your hand, tearing into Equius’ ankle.

The big brute gasps, and for a brief moment, the stranglehold on your neck is alleviated. _Move, Strider_ , says the movie-hero voice in your head. _Get up and win._

Reaffirming your hold on the sword, you pull yourself away from the chord and through Equius’ legs. He turns, his foot bleeding, a truly demonic snarl on his face. His hands stretch out to rip your head off.

You bring the katana up and close your eyes.

There’s a wet noise as steel penetrates flesh.

You look up at Equius. The sword is driven over half its length through his body, sticking right through his solar plexus. “Oh,” he says simply. “Oh dear.”

He slumps and falls back into a sitting position. “Well done,” he says. “Really. I mean that. I didn’t think you could beat me, but here we are.”

“Fuck.” That’s all you can say. Your voice is weak and raspy, barely your own. “Fuck, Equius, I’m so sorry man.”

“Quite alright. I instigated this fight, so you have nothing to be ashamed of.” Equius looks down at the sword sticking from his chest. “Hmm. Did you finish that water bottle, by some chance?”

“No.”

“Please retrieve it, if you will.”

You get up and stagger over to the bottle, which is still about half full. You present it to Equius, who nods appreciatively. “Drink it, please.”

“But-”

“You sound terrible, David. I really did a number on your throat. Drink it, please. Consider it a dying request.”

You do. The water hurts going down, but once you drink it, you do feel better. “Are you…how come you aren’t dead yet?”

“I’m not sure,” Equius muses, looking down. “This is most certainly a fatal wound. I suppose I’ve been blessed with a few minutes before I go into shock. How fortunate. I can ask you for a second favor.” Equius reaches up and with a trembling hand removes his glasses, revealing his brilliant blue eyes.

They’re blurry with tears. “I need you to spare Nepeta, Dave.”

“Nepeta?” You frown. “Is she…”

“She and I were traveling together. I heard the gunshots and told her to hide, let me go ahead and investigate.” Equius leans down and spits some of his blood on the ground. “I wanted to protect her, Dave. It was my one and only intention here. Keep her safe.”

“So, when you said you wanted to kill me-”

“For her. I wanted her to win. When I awoke in this hell, I made an oath to myself that I’d do whatever it took to let her come home alive.” Equius shakes his head slowly. “I thought I was strong enough, I truly did. I didn’t even let Aradia’s death slow me.”

“Aradia?” You’ve never heard Equius talk this much before. He was so reserved, so withdrawn to you before you came here. He’s…different now. Happy, maybe, but that makes no sense at all. “Dude, I never saw you even talk to her.”

“I was never courageous enough. I have no time for regrets, though.” Equius sniffs, then winces. “I came with two goals: to tell Aradia how I felt, and to protect Nepeta until she and I were the last ones left, at which point I would kill myself. It seems I will be unable to fulfill either. If I cannot shield Nepeta any further, then I need to at least buy her some time. Give her a fair chance to win. That’s where you come in, Dave.”

“What do you want from me?” you ask tiredly. “Somehow, I don’t think she’s going to be super keen on being around the guy who killed her best friend. I’m guessing she’ll be subscribing to the ‘kill me dead’ school of thought.”

“You’re right. The game’s broken her. The thought of doing what we must do to win here…” Equius bites his lip. “She was never the most stable. Very empathic, very attuned to her emotions. All that despair, all that terror that you or I felt, it was a thousandfold for her. I’m sorry to see what she’s become. When she sees you, and sees what you did, she will attack you.”

“Oh. Great. Today’s been going amazing for me so far, let’s add being eviscerated by a justifiably vengeful Leijon to the itinerary.” You’re so tired. Every muscle in your body feels like it’s been pumped full of liquid lead. You just want to flop back, close your eyes, and wake up in your bed at home.

“Don’t harm her, Dave,” says Equius. “I have no right to ask that, I know I don’t, but I shall anyways. Escape if you can, incapacitate her if you must, but don’t kill her. It’s all I can reasonably expect from you.” He smiles at you.

Equius has never smiled at you before. You’ve never seen him smile before, period. You didn’t think he even could smile. “Jade Harley is a very lucky girl. Her protector is a better man than I.”

“I’m no protector,” you mutter. “I lost her. She’s alone somewhere, and I can’t keep her safe. And I - and I killed you.”

“Self defense. Don’t feel too bad about it. You’ll find her. And until your final breath is drawn, Dave Strider, you’ll protect her.” Equius closes his eyes. “Good luck.”

He slumps back. Smiling. Dead.

You stare at Equius for a long moment as the red light on his neck flickers away. “You asshole,” you say bitterly. He got to die with dignity. How many others on this island get to say that?

Slowly, your bones groaning in protest, you get to your feet. Weapons. You need weapons. You take the handle of the blade and pull.

No give. Damn it. Both hands? Nothing. You growl and plant one foot on Equius’ chest and pull. Slowly, with a sickening tearing noise, the blade slides out of him. Equius’ blood, warm and rich, spurts out and onto you.

You stumble back when it separates from Zahhak’s corpse. Most of the blade’s length is red with his blood. “The gun, too,” you murmur.

“Equius?”

You turn around to find Nepeta Leijon standing there. Long, razor sharp claws on her hands. Tears in her wide eyes. Equius was right- there’s something wrong with her now. You can’t quite pinpoint it, but humans shouldn’t stand that way. They shouldn’t have that look on their face. “Dave,” she says slowly, “You…you killed Equi…you killed Equius.”

You open your mouth, but no words come out. What do you say in response to that?

“You hurt Equius,” says Nepeta, and a new emotion starts to form on her heartbroken face: rage. “You…hurt Equius. I’ll hurt _you_.”

She crouches and charges you, a horrible hiss coming from the back her throat. You sigh heavily and raise your sword. Can’t die here, no matter how much you might want to. Not that you think you’ve got a chance here. You can barely move, you’re so tired, while Nepeta is fresh and furious. She’s going to tear you apart with those claws of hers, and that’ll be the slow, agonizing, well-deserved end of it.

There’s a gunshot that blows Nepeta backwards like she was being flattened by an invisible wall. She grabs her shoulder, blood spurting from between her fingers, and howls in pain.

You turn to look at the shooter, and your heart jumps into your throat. It’s Jade Harley.

Jade motherfucking Harley. Her face is cold and her rifle is smoking. “Go away, Nepeta,” she says, a cruelty in her voice that is alien to you. “Get out of my sight, or the next one goes through your heart.”

Nepeta scrambles back, hissing, animalistic fury in her eyes. “Kill you both,” she snarls. “Kill you _all_.” Blood leaking from her mangled shoulder, she slowly retreats into the trees.

When you’re positive she’s gone, you look back at Jade. Thank god she’s okay. “Wicked timing, Harley,” you say. “It’s basically a superpower when it comes to you, isn’t it? You’ve got the uncanny ability to save the skin of my ass whenever it needs saving.” You take a step towards her, but Jade veers the gun to point it at you.

“Stay back,” she says. Her lip is stiff, which only happens when she’s trying to stop it from quivering. “Murderer.”

What? “Jade, you…don’t be stupid. This was self defense.”

“Then why are you covered in his blood?” She demands.

You look down. Huh. So you are. Equius’ blood is splashed all over your vest and neck, soaking into the fabric. “Jade, c’mon. It’s me, Dave. I didn’t want to hurt anyone, it was this or get killed. Look.” You raise your neck, revealing the dark red line around it. It’s visible even through the blood. “He tried to strangle me with a goddamn bowstring. I killed him because I had to.”

Jade shakes her head, her dark hair moving to and fro. Her face is slick with sweat, you realize. She ran here. “You never have to. You said you weren’t going to play.”

“I-”

“You _killed_ someone, Dave.” Jade’s breathing is shaky, and you don’t think it’s fatigue. She’s different now, somehow. Something she saw or did in your brief time apart has changed her. “You took a life that was not your own, and that’s unforgivable. I can’t stay with a _murderer_.”

You want her to laugh. Want her to smile at you and say “just kidding” and make fun of you for being so gullible. But you know she’s serious.

And you think she might be right. “Jade, please, just listen to me.”

“The sound of the shot will draw trouble,” she says softly. “I’m going back to the cabin to get my bag. Please don’t follow me.”

“Fuck, Harley!” You exclaim, a flame of desperation surging from your guts to your mouth. “What do I have to say to prove myself? I’m the same person I was half an hour ago, when you swore to me I’d see you again.” You don’t even know how you have the energy to be angry, but there it is. This isn’t fucking fair. You’ve spent the last day keeping her safe, and this is how she repays you?

“We aren’t enemies, Dave.” Jade’s voice is composed, but only barely. She’s holding it together by a thread- suppressing her emotions has never come easily to her.

Jade doesn’t want to go, you know it, but she isn’t going to change her mind, either. “You’re still my best friend. But…I don’t want to die. And I’m afraid that, if I stay with you, that’s what will happen.”

You open and close your mouth.

“Just…don’t come after me, okay?” She bites her lip so it’ll stop quivering. “Find someone else. John and Rose and Terezi, they’re all still out there. I’m sure they’ll want to travel with you.” She gives you a weak smile. She’s…pitying you. “But I don’t. Please respect that.”

Jade Harley turns around and runs away from you.

Your name is Dave Strider, and you have fucked everything up.

END OF CHAPTER THIRTEEN


	20. A Vessel for Killing

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you feel sick.

It’s been close to 18 hours, and the feeling hasn’t gone away. The churning tempest in your belly, the one that’s killing you. The one that causes any food you eat to come right back up, the one that makes sleep an impossibility.

You don’t know how to make it stop. It probably has something to do, though, with what you see when you close your eyes:

Sollux Captor, standing in front of you. Brains and blood leaking from his exposed skull, one eye hanging out by its stem. “Why, Kay-kay?” He asks. “Why did you let me die?”

You don’t know what to do. You don’t know how to cope with this, with Sollux…you can barely even think about what he did. It’s making every moment agonizing, you know that much, but there doesn’t seem to be a solution.

Of course, this island isn’t helping things. Not that the problem would cease to be a problem if you were safe at home in your own bed, but the constant threat of being butchered isn’t particularly conducive to calming down. Every time you think Relax, everything is going to be alright, another voice chimes in with a scream: _NO IT FUCKING WON’T BE YOU’RE GOING TO DIE YOU’RE GOING TO DIE YOU’RE GOING TO DIE_

Somehow, you’ve decided that the only solution is for you to find an ally. If only there was someone you trusted, someone you could talk to and get a few minutes of reprieve, maybe things might be a bit better. You can defend yourself a bit, but there are plenty of people in the class who could overpower you, and that’s not taking into account things like weapons or numbers. All you need is one person, any person, to watch your back.

No, that’s not right. Not any person. You’ve got some preferences.

John is a friend that springs to mind immediately: he’s probably the best guy you know. Oh, sometimes you want to puke out your small intestine so you can strangle him with it, but he’s honest and true and will do anything to protect his friends. The issue, you guess, is that he’s too friendly. You can’t see John killing anyone, even if he wanted to. He’s too damn nice, he’d rather let them kill him. It feels hideous and mercenary to think, but you’d like an ally who might be willing to actually put down an aggressor.

That puts another option of yours, Jade, in serious question. Everything you think about John is true about her, too, plus the added “super-genius with crazy hunting tracking abilities” bonus perks. But…Jade’s too nice. You don’t think John could ever kill anyone, but you don’t want Jade to ever kill anyone. That’d be disgusting, and it has nothing to do with her being a girl. It has to do with her being Jade.

Gamzee is questionable, too. Forget being too innocent to hurt someone, Gamzee’s too oblivious. He’s hardly the most mentally sound person you know, so you doubt he took being dropped off on the island well. Who knows what the poor bastard’s got himself into? That same angry, opportunistic voice from earlier tells you that wasting time protecting someone, even your “best fucking friend”, isn’t a good plan.

Dave…Dave’s a good choice. As much of an asshole as he is, you and Strider make a good team, and you think that he might be willing to kill someone if he really had to. But he’s far from your best friend, either, and you know that Dave’s loyalties lie with his foursome of him, Egbert, Lalonde, and Harley. Those four are inseparable, like they’re a different species.

Then there’s Spencer. You and Slick go way back, and in spite of your four older brothers, you look up to him more than anyone else. That said, he’s a crazy fucker who skips class and has permanent blood stains on his uniform. You have no doubt he’d be willing to kill someone who threatened him- but you also think he’d be willing to kill pretty much anyone. You aren’t sure if you want to be allied with someone like that.

Kanaya is another good one. She’s your closest female friend, and while she’s as gentle and kind as anyone you know, she also wouldn’t be averse to kicking some ass if the situation called for it.  She may very well be your first choice.

No, strike that. Your first choice is obvious. It’s the smartest, toughest, quickest person you know. The one who’s beat your ass almost as many times as she’s saved it. The one who’s nearly blind and sees more than anyone else. The one who you’ve known from the moment you got here is the absolute favorite to win this demented game.

Your first choice for an ally is Terezi Pyrope.

Who comes bounding out of the bush and smacks straight into you.

“Ow, fuck!” You both manage to yell at the exact same time. You step back and rub your nose- Terezi consists of a bunch of hard pointy pieces and nothing else. “Wait, Terezi?”

Pyrope blinks at you a couple times. “Uh…Ka…Karkat?” She nods and adjusts her bag, slung over her shoulder. “Yeah, Karkat. I’d know that stupid hair anywhere.”

“My hair is just a blob to you, you can’t see it any detail.”

“I know! The stupidity of it is just that overwhelming.” It didn’t take her long to start showing teeth and making fun of you. Terezi looks…fine, actually. Perfectly okay. Not rattled or upset or fading. Just a bit haggard, and that’s to be expected after a day of roughing it in the woods.

Of course. It’d take a lot more than near-certain death to get the grin off her face.

“So, how’ve you been?” She asks. “Game going well? Made any new friends?”

“No, but I’ve had a great time getting reoriented with my right foot,” you growl. “I was thinking of introducing him to your ass, I think they’d get along great.”

Terezi cocks an eyebrow at you. “Your voice…it sounds messed up. Flimsy, like you’re trying not to cry. Everything alright, Karkat?”

No. Not alright. Not alright at all.

But for the love of god, you’re not going to say that. Oh, you thought that you’d fall apart the moment you saw a friend, but seeing Terezi looking so strong and confident and in-control…you can’t act like a little kid. Pyrope respects you probably, maybe, hopefully. You have to live up to that.

Subject change, then. In her hand is a long brown cane made of a twisting, leathery material. You squint at it. “What in Satan’s asscrack of fiery oblivion is that in your hand?”

“This? Some kind of cane. Took it off Naga after I killed her.”

Your eyes widen. “Uh…wow. All aboard the ‘tasteless joke express’, destination Terezi’s horrifically oversized talk-hole.”

Pyrope cackles a bit, but then shakes her head and looks at you. You realize that you’re looking up a bit- Terezi’s two inches your superior. “I wasn’t joking, Karkat. I killed Naga yesterday. Snapped her neck and left her to rot.”

You take a step back. “…What?”

“Come off it, Vantas, who did you think was committing all those murders? Ten of our classmates are dead, and when it’s midday, we’ll find out it’s even more than that.” There isn’t a smile on Terezi’s face anymore, which is rare. You don’t think you’ve ever seen her look so serious before. “Assuming no multiples, and discounting Cody, that means nine of the remaining twenty on the island are killers. Discounting yourself, Karkat, that’s nearly a fifty-fifty chance.”

You stare at Terezi, stunned, horrified. “Sollux committed suicide,” is all you can mutter.

“Whatever!” She waves it off, waves Sollux’s death away like it means nothing to her when you know it doesn’t. “You’re so naive, Karkat. I could hear the hope in your voice, it was pathetic. You wanted me to _save_ you, didn’t you?”

You feel your fists clench, nails digging into your palms. Your shock at Terezi’s confession is quickly fading, the space it once filled being replaced with rage. “No,” you say angrily. “I was hoping that you might have been strong enough and smart enough to resist giving in to Scratch’s game and turning herself into just another murderous waste of skin and fluids. I guess I was wrong.”

She snorts, a condescending smile flickering onto her face. “One winner, Vantas. Wrap your mind around it. Not you and all your friends. Not you and your traveling buddy. Winner, singular. You kill if you want to live, and I have no intentions of dying at fifteen. Do you?”

“I-”

“ _Do you?!_ ”

There’s a long moment of silence. “No,” you finally manage.

“Then we’re done here.” Terezi turns to leave, but you drop your duffel bag and grab her shoulder.

“Uh-uh,” you say. “I just spent the last eighteen hours reliving Sollux splattering himself off a building because I couldn’t save him. You’re my friend, Terezi, and you know that what you’re saying is enough bullshit to weigh the Earth off its axis and hurl it into the sun. I won’t let you go down the path you’re walking.”

“…You want me to protect you,” she says over her shoulder.

“No. I want _me_ to protect _you_.”

Terezi turns halfway to face you. “Alright, Karkat. I’ll make you an offer. You fight me, right now. If you win, I’ll stay with you ‘til one of us is dead. If you lose, I leave you here and the next time we meet, I’ll kill you.”

You open your mouth to tell Terezi that her plan is so cataclysmically idiotic that you’re afraid to open your mouth for fear of a slurry of dead cells that used to be your brain pouring out, but she doesn’t wait for you to agree. Her left hand grabs yours, and her right elbow rockets back into your stomach.

You gasp, the air forcefully squeezed out of you. Before you can react, Terezi brings the cane back in a- GOD FUCKING DAMN IT

You yelp as the hard wood slams against your balls. The pain is like fire, and it’s the second time you’ve taken a shot down there. You feel your knees quiver from the impact, and desperately swing for Terezi with your free hand. You need to get some space between the two of you, quick.

Terezi ducks your swing and takes a knee. Her cane swings around and hooks the back of your leg, and with a flourish, Pyrope sends you to your ass. You kick out for her, but like lightning, she dodges.

She’s upon you now, her cane warding off your attempts to keep her back, and then her palm shoots out and strikes you between the eyes. Everything goes crossed for a half second, and whenever your vision comes close to correcting itself, Terezi hits you with another fast, brutal strike.

Finally, mercifully, she stops. You blink twice and try to take stock of what just happened.

You’re lying on your back in the dirt. Terezi’s cane is pressed under your neck, cutting off most of your air. She’s straddled your chest, and she isn’t even breathing hard.

God damn. You knew she was tougher than you, but you had no idea the gap in your fighting skills was so great.

“You want to protect me?” She asks. “I could fight three of you and still win. You can’t even protect yourself, and you want to protect me? That’s a fucking laugh. You’re weak, Karkat. Weak! _You’re fucking weak!_ ”

Terezi peers down at you from behind her scarlet glasses, and you see something you’ve never seen before in her eyes: pain. She’s just as weak and scared as you.

She’s only a million times better at hiding it.

There’s a long moment of eye contact before she draws to her feet, mercifully allowing you to breathe fully again. “Don’t stare at my ass when I walk away,” she says, the grin slowly returning to her face. “Otherwise I’ll find you guilty of sexual harassment, and the punishment for that is death.”

You just blink at her. Slowly, Terezi turns around, grabs her duffel bag, and walks away.

You have no idea how to handle what just happened to you.

* * *

You are now John Egbert, and your face hurts.

The bandage over your shrapnel wound might stop the bleeding, but it doesn’t stop the constant discomfort. The cut is deep and painful, a void in your body that almost touches bone. It’s one of four primary factors that kept you from sleeping much last night.

The second primary reason is Rose.

At the moment, she’s staring ahead intently with her one good eye. The left eye, the one that Simone hit, blossomed this morning into a fully-fledged shiner. It’s now covered with a bandage. Her remaining right eye is cold, with that clever spark that you’ve become so used to replaced with mechanical precision.

Her fingers drum against the handle of the machete. _Da-dum da-dum da-dum_. Your own hands tighten around the handle of your hammer. “Are you…sure about this?” You ask PM.

Pandora smiles at you. She’s finally gotten her uniform back together, but it’s hard to look at her and not see the disfigurements from broken bones and bullets that are underneath the vest and button-down. Olga’s blood still stains her clothes. “Yeah, don’t worry. I know what I’m doing here.”

“But, uh, these are killing implements.” You can’t help but look at the machete- the one that took Olga’s head, apparently. “Things go wrong and you’ll be-”

“You aren’t going to try to kill me, are you John?” PM asks.

“No.”

“You should. I won’t hurt you, that’s counterproductive, but you need to fight me as if your life depends on it. That means lethal force. Rose, you’re fine with that, right?”

“Of course,” she murmurs, her eyes still on PM.

PM nods and brushes her white hair back. “Think of it this way, John: if you kill me, you’re one classmate closer to winning.”

A shiver runs down your spine at that. It’s a joke, you know, but…a pretty tasteless one. So that’s how that feels, you reflect. “Uh, I guess I can try. So long as you think it’s important.”

“Essential, even.” PM smiles serenely. “Alright then, you two. Try and kill me.”

Rose and you move at the same time, but Lalonde’s got three inches of leg on you. She reaches PM first, slashing with the machete, to which Pandora answers with a casual duck and a leg sweep. Rose leaps back, narrowly avoiding getting toppled.

You reach PM and, with a growl, swing the hammer for her crouched form. PM’s hand shoots out, quick as a bullet, pushing your wrist to the side and redirecting your weight in the opposite direction. You stumble away from her, your balance shaken without PM exerting any force at all.

How the hell did she do that?

You turn as fast as you can to find Rose on PM again, the machete coming inches from opening some new holes in Merriett’s body. At no point, though, does it look like PM’s in danger of being hit. Her dodges are close on purpose, she’s not wasting motion with gigantic leaps. Every move Pandora makes looks formulated and choreographed.

Nobody should be able to fight like that in real life.

On Rose’s fifth swing, PM grabs her arm and drops her weight. With a pull Rose goes over the smaller girl’s shoulder, slamming on the ground at PM’s feet.

Seeing that gets your blood pumping again. You charge in, sidestepping Rose and aiming the hammer for your would-be foe’s temple. PM’s darts forward faster than your eyes can follow and ends up popping up inches from your face.

“Hi,” she says before driving a hand into your solar plexus. It doesn’t hurt, per se, but it sends a paralyzing chill throughout your body and causes you to stumble backwards. Waiting for you is PM’s foot, which trips up your ankle and sends you crashing into the grass. This time, at least, you avoid hitting your head.

You see Rose move to get up, but PM plants a foot on her forehead. “Okay,” she says. “Not completely hopeless. With some training, either of you might be pretty good someday. Some constructive criticism, I think.”

She points first at Rose. “You’re too aggressive, Lalonde. Someone as clever as you should be playing a thinking man’s game in a fight, not going berserk and trying to take my head off. You’ve got reach, you’ve got brains. Use them.”

Her finger goes to you next. “You’ve got the opposite problem, John- hesitation. I know that I’m really cute, and that messing up my face is criminal, but if you wait that much then anyone who can see can dodge that hammer of yours. You’re strong and you’re faster than you look, but you’re too damn nice. Learn to be more of an asshole.”

“Gotcha,” you say, rubbing the back of your head. “So now what?”

“Well, I guess we can try-” PM’s sentence is cut short when she’s suddenly pulled off her feet. She goes to the ground with a gasp, and with a furious flurry of motion, Rose is upon her.

A second later, Rose has the tip of the machete touching PM’s neck. “And your weakness, Pandora,” she says, “is that you let your guard down too easily. You’re next to invincible when you focus, but once you’re distracted, even an untrained girl who fights like a moron can beat you.”

“Duly noted,” replies PM from the ground. There’s a long moment of tense silence until you break it up with a forced cough.

“Uh, yeah! So let’s stop doing this now.” You pull yourself to your feet. “The point here is that we all have at least two people we can reliably expect not to kill us, right?”

“For now,” says Rose flatly. “Excuse me. I’m going to go fill my canteen in the river.” She drops the machete, pulls the pistol she had hidden in the back of her skirt out, grabs the canteen, and leaves.

You watch her go. You didn’t realize until now, but Rose is looking pretty beat-up. Looking at her, it’s easy to have the eye drawn to her bandaged eye or to Ronald’s blood on her uniform, but only now do you notice all of her has got little scrapes and cuts. You’ve been noticing something similar happening to you, as well. You’ve got grass stains and tiny bruises and all sorts of shit on your arms now, plus the bandaged shrapnel wound on your cheek.

Are you and Rose going to end up like PM, disfigured and horrifying? When you get home (and you will get home, you will you will you will), will you have to hide your body from everyone you meet? These questions were the third thing to keep you up last night. The fourth reason was the sight of the smoking crater of skull and brains that used to be the head of Ronald Impe.

“Hey, PM,” you call. “Is Rose… is she alright?”

“Define ‘alright’.” PM sits up and gets to her feet. She grabs the machete and walks over to you. “Healthy? For the most part.”

“You sure? Because I think she might be going shithouse bananas double-crazy.”

PM snorts as she heads over to the bags. “Is that a medical term?”

“Yes,” you answer seriously. “But actually. What the hell’s going on there?”

“Oh, it’s just her metamorphosis.” PM smiles sunnily at you. “The death of her empathy, compassion, mercy, and ability to see other human beings as friendly or positive agents.”

You stare at Pandora blankly for a long moment.

Holy shit, she isn’t kidding.

“You’re having trouble replying to that?” PM asks. She reaches the bags, pulls a small box of crackers from hers, and starts eating them.

“Uh…yeah.”

“Understandable. Okay, well.” PM swallows her food and keeps talking. “Rose went through something really bad earlier. She lost a friend because of her weakness, and she doesn’t want that to happen twice. Rose is good at a lot of things: she’s clever and tactical and cool under pressure, but she’s learned how to use those things socially. It’s like taking a fish that’s really damned good at being a fish, strapping wings to it, and expecting it to be able to fly.” PM raises her head, showing the tiny red mark where Rose cut her. “But she’s also a quick learner. She’s resolved to learn how to use those skills of hers for the Program’s purposes, and you don’t radically alter yourself without leaving something behind.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” you say nervously, pushing your glasses up.

PM smiles again, but doesn’t answer. You search desperately for something to say. Talk has been sparse since Casey’s death, really- functional statements about supplies or positions or future plans. Laughing with Rose just last night feels like a distant memory.

“So… what does that mean?” You don’t much like what PM is saying is going to happen. Wasn’t the whole point of your alliance with her that you and Rose wouldn’t have to play this damned game?

“For us? It’s a good thing. Rose is going to become less of a burden and more of an asset now.” PM shrugs nonchalantly. “Now I just have to wait for the same to happen to you.”

“M-me?!” You feel your eyes widen so much that it sends a surge of pain through your cut.

“Yeah,” says Pandora cheerfully. “F’course, you’re a much nicer person than Lalonde is, so it might take some extra prodding. But I was nicer than either of you back in the day, and now look at me. Want a cracker?”

You take a long moment to reply. With hesitance, you take the cracker and eat it. It tastes like sand. “I don’t think that’s going to happen to me,” you answer after swallowing. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, I never have. I just want to keep my friends safe.”

“God, could you be any more like him?” PM sighs.

“What?”

“I had a friend, William. You’re a goddamn carbon copy.” The smile is off her face now. “Simone, too. She reminds me a lot of another friend of mine. And that Slick kid looks just like…him.”

“Jack No-” You start, but then you remember PM’s reaction the last time someone said the name. She didn’t flip out- her reaction was a matter-of-fact death threat. It was cold and empty and inhuman and it scared the shit out of you.

PM pops another cracker in her mouth. “Yeah, him. Try not to say his name, alright?”

You nod, relieved. “Sure. So should I worry about Rose or no?”

“Worry about no one but yourself. That’s my advice, which you aren’t going to follow. So instead, let Rose do her own thing and you do your best to keep her breathing. How does that sound?”

You open your mouth to reply, but you see Rose emerge from the brush. In her hand is the canteen, heavy with water. “If you two are finished talking about me,” she says calmly, “we should discuss our plan for the day.”

You walk over to Rose. “I think we should look for the others,” you say. “Strength in numbers. Dave and Jade and Karkat and Kanaya and Vriska… they’re all still alive on the island, right?” Honestly, it’s a bit tough for you to trust PM after what she just said. You want someone else close at hand. Someone you can trust.

“Unless they’ve died in the half hour since the announcement,” Rose replies blankly, putting a hand to her chin. “Sure, let’s do it. Let’s not let the others come to us. We should come to them.”

Rose walks past you and heads to the bags. You reach into your belt and grip the handle of your pistol.

So you aren’t strong enough to protect Rose, and you don’t really trust PM. That’s fine. You’ll get friends, people you’ve known for a long time and who aren’t progressively losing all their marbles, and then you’ll all protect one another.

The tall girl in front of you isn’t quite the Rose you know, and she’s a thousand times more capable than you are. But she’s still Rose, one of your best friends, and she’s still in mortal danger.

And you’ll be damned if you can’t protect her.

* * *

Your name is Kanaya Maryam, and you’re fighting a losing battle.

In a mere 27 hours, 23 minutes, twelve of your twenty nine classmates have fallen. 40% mortality rate. Assuming a constant rate, your entire class will be dead around sunrise the day after tomorrow.

Your friends. Your enemies. Your rivals and your responsibilities and your clubmates and your crush- all dead, with bullets in their bellies or bludgeons through their heads. There’s nothing you can do to stop it. Doom encircles this island like a shark, and soon it will swallow you whole.

You can’t stop it. But you can slow it.

This island is the dearth of justice and goodness. It’s about survival of the fittest now, thousands of years of civilization thrown out the window in favor of the barbarism of old. You’re here to stop that.

Winning? That’d be nice. You consider yourself a pretty good person, and you have no interest in dying. However, you aren’t clouded about your chances. Statistically, they’re just over three percent. Maybe a bit higher, maybe a bit lower, it’d require a complex algorithm that you don’t want to formulate, but the smart bet doesn’t go on thirty-to-one odds.

So instead of playing to win, you’re playing to civilize. Playing so that those who remain sane and rational and human can advance over the savage and the sadistic and the monstrous. You’re the counter to Gamzee Makara and his ilk. A white knight. A guardian angel.

Thinking like that helps you get some peace of mind. You spent the first few hours of this game riddled with internal turmoil about what you’d do and what’d happen to you. Only when you made your decision to devote your dwindling final hours to the safety of your fellow student did your synapses settle into a comfortable rhythm of resigned focus. By then the sun had set, and you slept easily enough. You  rose early this morning to search for your fellow student and help make sure they were being civil.

You haven’t had much luck thus far, though you did save a terrified Jade Harley’s life, maybe. That’s a lot- Jade is one of the kindest and smartest people you know, and if you could, you’d serve as a long term protector for her. There’s more to do, though, and Jade hardly needs someone like that. You’re sure she can take care of herself just fine.

You need to find some specific individuals. Karkat, no doubt, is scared senseless and needs you. His harsh outer shell is little more than a vaporous illusion masking a frightened, vulnerable, sensitive young man. If you can help him find peace before his… his probable, almost certain death, then that would make you very happy.

Eridan is another person you want to meet. He’s even more neurotic than Karkat, and you’ve been at times convinced he is an automaton conceived by Imperial R&D specifically designed to wear upon your nerves. But there is a good person deep down, you think, and you’d like to see that person before… yeah.

There is another person you want to meet, though. Someone very important to you. You can’t think of anyone better suited to this game, and that scares you quite a bit. You need to see her before things end. You need to find-

Vriska?!

Serket emerges from the bush. “…Shit,” she says.

“Fuck,” you eloquently reply.

No, Vriska Serket is not the person you wanted to see. Quite the opposite. You were hoping to avoid her entirely.

You and her have a… _history_. Granted, it seems to you that Vriska has a history with most of the school’s potted plants, but your past with her is especially checkered. For a good, long time, you considered her to be your responsibility. You kept her out of fights, made sure nobody stopped breathing on account of her. You felt like a haggard wetnurse in middle school, always cleaning up her messes.

Then Vriska graduated from fights to attempted murder, and you said ‘fuck it’ and left her up to John Egbert. God help him, because in your opinion, Vriska is beyond help.

And you have little doubt that she’s already taken a life. At least one. Probably more. “Hello, Vriska,” you say cautiously. No weapons in her hands, but who knows what’s in that duffel bag? You’re packing a fucking chainsaw in yours. “How are you?”

“We gonna make small talk?” She snarls from behind a massive, unsettling grin. She doesn’t look her best. Her posture, normally so proud and defiant, is bent and gnarled like the weight of the game is slowly crushing her into the dirt. Her hair is frayed and dirty, and her eyes are so wide that her skin is stretched white. There’s a bruise on the side of her face of unknown origins.

“As opposed to what?” You cock an eyebrow.

“ _As opposed to what,_ ” she mocks in an actually fairly accurate imitation of your voice. “Are you telling me you don’t know what the point of this game is?”

“I honestly don’t know what you’re going on about.” You actually have a pretty good idea, but you aren’t prepared for a fight. Your chainsaw’s in your bag, and who knows what sort of weaponry Serket’s packing?

“The great Kanaya Maryam doesn’t know something for a change! I thought you knew everything, Maryam. can they? No one’s allowed- heh- to be smarter or better than you, because that’d make you saaaaaaaad.” She’s clearly gone batshit crazy, you reflect. Slight giggles breaking up her speech, fluctuating and frantic tone… this is not the speech pattern of a mentally balanced person.

“Vriska,” you say in your best therapist voice (you’ve learned from the best), “You aren’t well. Please calm down, and let’s talk about this.”

“Shut up! I’m perfect- I’m perfectly fine!” She giggles again, rocking back and forth. “I won’t fall for this shit again. You, Pyrope, even Megido, you’re all out to get me. My so-called friends. Fuck that, fuck you!” Her fists clench into tiny balls. Vriska is significantly smaller than you are- you’re tall and well built for a girl your age, after all.

Still. Best to exercise some caution. “What did Terezi and Aradia do, Vriska?” You ask soothingly. Five steps between you, no weapons out. Good. That’s good.

“Pyrope… she’s gone fucking crazy.” Vriska touches her cheek reflexively. “But she won’t get me, no chance. I’ll kill her before she lays a finger on me. And Megido! Don’t get me started on her. She has the gall to ask me to kill her, like it’s her choice.” Vriska laughs, a weak and pained bray of a laugh. “I’m so glad I took her out. My only regret is that I didn’t make her beg me not to first!”

You don’t know if you should feel pity or disgust. “Let me get this straight,” you say. “You killed Aradia?”

“Yep!”

“And you don’t regret it?”

“Regret it? I wish I could do it again!” Vriska snorts. “Okay, nice chatting, Maryam. Now die.”

“Wh-” You can barely get a word out before Vriska drives her shoulder into your midsection and takes you off your feet. You were taken entirely by surprise, and before you know it, a pair of thin and sharp hands are wrapped around your neck.

“I won’t lose!” You hear Vriska holler from above you. “And I sure as fuck won’t lose to you!”

You grab Vriska’s hands and pry them off. You try not to solve your problems with violence, but it seems that you’ll have to here. It occurs to you that you’re significantly stronger than your opponent.

That’s good.

You twist both of Vriska’s wrists and throw her off you, then immediately leap after her. If you can keep her unbalanced and confused, then in her weakened mental state, you might be able to overwhelm her.

Vriska shouts and swings at you, but you block her hit and return it with a palm strike of your own. You get her between the eyes, your hand traveling down and bouncing the back of Vriska’s head into the dirt.

She snarls and tries to sit up, and you put a stop to that with a right cross against her face- right against the pre-existing bruise. Vriska grabs her cheek and lies there, staring at you with hateful eyes. You stand over here, your breathing heavy.

“What am I supposed to do now?” You ask. “You’ve gone mad, Vriska. What few vestiges of sanity you had been desperately clinging to have perished, and you’ve gone crazy as fuck.”

“So kill me,” she hisses. “If you’ve got the fucking balls.”

“Perhaps I must. Perhaps that’s the way things must be.” You grab Vriska’s collar and pull her up to a few inches from you. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. Not even you. But you’re dangerous. I can’t let you continue.”

“Oh my god, would you please shut up and do it already?” Vriska spits on your face. “Before I die of old age here.”

You wipe the spittle off and throw Vriska down next to your bag. She lands hard on her spine, her glasses falling off her nose.  As she curses and rubs the small of her back, you rush over to her and unzip your duffel bag.

You pull out your chainsaw.

“Oh,” says Vriska, her eyes widening. “Oh, no. No, no-”

You rev the chainsaw on. It roars hungrily, the rows of teeth glistening savagely. “I can’t apologize enough,” you say. “But this is how it has to be.”

“No! No, no, no, _no!_ ” Vriska tries to scramble backwards, but you pin her down with your knee. “Please, not like that! Please don’t! _Kanaya!_ ” Her words, at first muffled by the chainsaw, are now shrieks. Thick tears streaming down her haggard face. “ _I’ll do anything, just please not like that!_ ”

You bring the chainsaw up to Vriska’s face, and she stops pleading. Instead, she begins to scream and cry, her eyes still fixed open in a flood of terror. Her chest rocks with horrible sobs as your weapon comes closer and closer-

You can’t possibly do this.

You stand up and step back. After a few moments, the chainsaw sputters to a halt. “I…can’t,” you whisper. “Not like that.”

There’s a long moment of silence, save for heavy breathing on your part and involuntary sobs on Vriska’s, before you speak again. “You’re dangerous, Vriska. You need to die, and soon, before you hurt anyone else. But it won’t be me who does the killing.”

You turn around and grab your duffel bag. “I’m not as strong as I thought I was. I cannot protect the others from you. I am asking you to please kill yourself by whatever means are available.”

“Thank you,” Vriska sobs from behind you as you walk away. “Thank you so much, thank you…”

There’s a pristine moment of fear as the unmistakable noise of a gun cocking fills the air. “Thanks for talking so much,” says Vriska, an odd serenity in her voice,. “Now shut the fuck up.”

There’s a crack of thunder and your throat is on fire.

You can’t even turn before the most stunning pain of your short life quickly incinerates everything that is Kanaya Maryam. There’s only agony now.

You fall, hands going to your neck. There’s a _hole_ \- a smoking hole of fire straight through. You try to scream, but just a bloody gurgle escapes your lips. Tears form and run down your face. You curl up into a ball, hacking and coughing red chunks.

You think you’re so smart,” you hear Vriska say as if she’s a thousand miles away. “Y’know, Kanaya, I really did want to die for a minute there. So I decided to leave it to you- if you were strong enough to kill me, the same way I was strong enough to kill Aradia, you’d be worthy of living and I’d get off this shitty island. But you can’t kill me, and that means you can’t live. Fair’s fair, Kanaya. Now die. Sloooooooowly.” Vriska begins to laugh, a cold and cruel and slightly (but only slightly) manic cackle.

True to her word, you die slow, over what feels like a millennium. A massive puddle of your lifeblood soaks the bottom of your body and numbness overtakes your extremities, then all of you.

And as the pounding of death’s drum becomes a scream in your ears, all you can hear over it is Vriska laughing at you.

 

 

 * * *

Your name is Simone Frost, and you’re deeply entertained.

You emerge from the brush, scanning the still bloody heap that was Kanaya Maryam. “Very entertaining,” you say. “You let her suffer. I like that.”

“Frost?” Serket asks with a pant. She’s quite the mess. Not taking the slightest bit of pride in her appearance. “The hell are you doing?”

“I arrived around the time you were shrieking for her not to kill you,” you answer. “The two of you were so busy eye-fucking that I didn’t think I would ever be noticed.”

Vriska turns her revolver on you, but you expected that. Your own pistol comes out, trained on Serket. “I strongly recommend not fighting me,” you say sweetly. “It will end poorly.”

“So if it isn’t a bullet between those pretty eyes you want, why are you bothering me?” Serket pulls herself to her feet. Her eyes are still bleary with tears, but that grin on her face isn’t a madwoman’s grin. It’s the grin of someone who is going mad very quickly, and soon will be little more than a vessel for killing.

You know that grin well.

“An alliance,” you answer finally. “You’re clever and you like to play games. Why don’t you play with me?”

“I don’t do partnerships,” Vriska answers. “I had a sister. She ended up being a colossal mega-bitch. And I don’t know you at all, other than the fact that you’ve got shit taste in men.”

“Says Tavros Nitram’s stalker,” you reply. “Are you certain? I am much better at this game than you are. You can use me to kill all your enemies and then betray me at the most opportune moment.”

“…Nah.” Vriska shakes her head. “You’re too good. I’ll never get the drop on you. I’ve been going about this game wrong: I’m not the best player. There are people who are bigger and faster and smarter and better with weapons. I’m just me. Vriska. The girl who never loses.”

She smiles cheerfully at you. “This game’s no different. I’ll win, Simone, without anyone’s help. You can try for second, maybe, but second’s no better than thirtieth in this game.”

You purse your lips. Hmm. Not the answer you wanted. “Very well, Vriska. Good luck with your ‘game’. But when you die, regret not taking my offer.”

“I won’t have to worry about that particular regret for another seventy-five years, then,” Vriska answers.

You melt back into the brush and leave.

Oh well. On to the next one.

END OF CHAPTER FOURTEEN


	21. Blind

Your name is Terezi Pyrope, and perfection isn’t as easy as you thought it might be.

You’re not perfect. Do you look like Vriska Serket, of course you don’t think you’re perfect. You’re overzealous and misleading and untrustworthy and occasionally sadistic and you put juice cartons back in the fridge after you’ve emptied them of their contents.

But you’ve always come really close. You’ve had a pretty big obstacle dropped in your path- namely, the inability to see smaller obstacles. You make do. Run out of time during tests because it takes two minutes to read each question? Then you’ll get every possible point for the questions you do answer. Get an automatic C in Archery during Physical Education? Get a perfect score in every other unit. Your mom’s legal books don’t come in audio form? Call the distributor and have them start printing books with elevated words that blind (or near-blind) people can read.

Point is, you’ve never let the fact that you’re literally as blind as a bat slow you down. You’re one of the class’ best students in every category, you’ve got a high seat on the Student Council, your parents have connections. You’ll get into the law school at the capital, you’ll make District Attorney before you’re forty, and someday, you’ll be Chief Prosecutor of the entire Empire. Why? As a great big fuck you to everyone who ever doubted you because of your bum eyes.

And then your greatest test arose: SBURB. The Program. Three percent survival rate cold, and you got a weapon that you are entirely positive was chosen just for you because that prick Scratch thought it’d be funny.

 _No big deal_ , you thought. You’re a great fighter, one of the few people in the class with actual training. You’re one of the best athletes in the class, the pound-for-pound best until that weird, quiet Pandora girl transferred in. The rest of the people with a decent brain between their ears are either naive kids who don’t know that sometimes the good guys die (Feferi, Rose, Kanaya, and so on) or are obvious targets who’d be target number one for any sane person on the island (Droog, Equius, Slick, etc.) The good guys don’t always win, but they do when the good guy in question is as smart, fast, strong, and tough as you. But who’d expect a sweet little blind girl to win the whole thing?

Point is you were confident in your ability to win. You killed Naga Basile with your two hands and barely sweated it. You came face to face with Vriska Serket, your oldest and until recently closest friend and not only kept your cool, but totally dominated her. You had this in the bag. Move, fight, outsmart, kill, upgrade your weapon, let them kill one another.

The experience would haunt you for the rest of your life, but there’s so much you have to do. You can’t die on this stupid island. So you’ll be mechanical. Efficient. Perfect.

That was the plan. And then Karkat fucking Vantas happened.

You and that angry ball of nerves have a long history, almost as long as you and Vriska. You’ve got a soft spot for the little bastard, you don’t deny it- he has the most visceral and entertaining reaction to your teasing, after all. But it’s deeper than that- he’s been there with you at your lowest, and you were there for his. He gets you like no other, and you know that underneath that temper and prickly exterior is literally the nicest person in the world- eat your heart out, Jade Harley. You know that if it was anyone else, you’d keep your cool. Even Dave Strider, that lanky douche with his ironic smirk and great ass, wouldn’t have emotionally compromised you. Be perfect, Terezi. Be perfect or die.

And Karkat made you, however briefly, imperfect. The nerves and fears and weaknesses you had buried so deep in you that you didn’t even know they existed exploded out, gushing out of you in a great big screaming fit. You couldn’t help it- the sight of him so pathetic, so weak and helpless and lost, it broke your heart. And where once was empathy was now rage and killer instinct.

You would have killed him then and there. You would have bashed his head in with your cane however long it took, and you wouldn’t have been able to stop yourself. It took every ounce of the considerable willpower you possess to not do that.

What in the hell is happening to you? Who are you? Not Terezi Pyrope, not anymore. Terezi Pyrope doesn’t attack her innocent friends when they need her help. And you’re not the Terezi-bot who you decided to be when you got to this island. Terezi-bot wouldn’t have let him live.

That encounter was three hours ago, but you feel like it’s been an epoch. You’ve been conflicted ever since, and as you usually do when you’re conflicted, you’ve dedicated yourself to your work in its entirety. Plots, plans, schemes, machinations, maybe a few gambits. The usual.

The main one, though, is utilizing the weapons at hand. You’ve found the perfect area to set up “base”, a quarter of a sector that is thickly forested, but with multiple trees that you can climb with relative ease and loads of good locations for traps. You learned your trap-making skills from two places: old-school military adventure novels and Roxy Lalonde. That girl was a prodigy when it came to making effective snares out of shoestring materials, and you’re shamelessly stealing some of her designs here. A couple vine traps like the one you got Naga with, some rope traps designed to trip people up, some bent back sticks that might incapacitate an attacker… this is what you’ve spent the last two-and-a-half hours doing, and it’s shaping up pretty well. You could adequately defend this place from a small army. Okay, probably not, but it’s fun to pretend that you could.

You check the timepiece provided in your bag- five fifty-nine. The sun’s nearly down, and the sky’s been getting progressively greyer all day. The air smells like there’ll be rain pretty soon. Best find shelter before then and wait for some prey to come to you.

Hold on, if it’s five fifty nine, that means-

“Attention students,” says Scratch coolly, “I would like to congratulate you all for surviving the game for thirty hours so far.”

Scratch’s rich, fatherly voice is being piped in through the collar. “Your class is becoming progressively thinner, and I’m personally proud of every one of you still breathing. Since noon, we’ve had two casualties. By number, here they are: Female Student Number One Kanaya Maryam, a personal favorite of mine. Made the classic mistake of turning her back on the body. Male Student Number Four Equius Zahhak, a favorite in our betting pool- I made a tidy profit off of his demise. Now then, the no man’s lands. We have three zones to be sealed off, and they are F8, H4, and B6. Once again, F8, H4, and B6. You have one hour to vacate them. Have an excellent evening, and may be the best player win.” Scratch’s voice fades to a brief burst of feedback, and then silence.

Fuck. This is H4.

You sigh heavily and head over to your bag. Pulling out a bottle of water, you pour half the contents onto your hands, which are sticky with tree sap. Two and a half hours of making traps down the drain, because in an hour, this zone is going to be a much better trap than one you could make. That means you really don’t have any choice but to leave and find someplace safe to sleep. Maybe a few basic traps to protect you, but that’s it- once the rain starts, your visibility will drop from severely limited to virtual blindness, and the rain will obscure the sounds and smells you usually rely on for navigation.

You can’t ever come back here, but the problem is that it isn’t easy for you to tell where zones end and where they begin. You nearly stumbled into a no-man’s-land last night, and during the rainy night, you’ll have no idea where you are.

Guess you better mark the zone for yourself. You chose H4 because three sides of it are dense forest that you can’t safely walk through without hitting your face on something. It’s really only enterable on its left side from a single clearing- you should go there.

Drinking the rest of the water bottle and discarding it (and now you’re _littering,_ today just keeps getting better and better), you pick up your bag and grope the ground for your cane. Good old weird leathery cane. Your only constant companion. “At least you don’t judge me,” you say to your cane. “I love you, weird cane.”

The cane doesn’t answer. “Cold shoulder, eh?” You say with a chuckle. “Fine. Let’s see how you like…”

You walk for several minutes until you reach the clearing. You walk to the center of part in the treeline. “The GROUND!” You finish gleefully, grinding the tip of the cane into the dirt. A minute later, you have a slight indent in the ground, deep enough to catch your cane.

Can’t ever cross this line again. Sighing, you step over the line and move to leave. Better go quickly.

Your ears perk up as a noise rustles from the trees. It’s close- someone fairly tall, so probably a boy. With a few exceptions, boys are bad news. You need to get out of here.

Except your only avenue of retreat is back into the no-man’s-land. No time to run out from either other side, they’re very close. This clearing is not a good place to defend yourself, that’s obvious, but you can’t run.

You’ll have to talk to this person. How horrifying. Hopefully they won’t be anyone unpleasant.

The figure emerges from the brush, holding his ear, which is a mess of crimson flesh. In his hand is a black box that you suspect to be a large gun. He’s tall, six feet or so, and there’s a distinctive purple streak in his hair.

Eridan Ampora. Just your luck.

“…Pyrope?” He says uncertainly. “Fuckin’… damn. Didn’t expect to run into you.”

"Counted me out because I’m blind?” You ask, planting your cane in front of you. This is bad. Bad bad bad. Gun plus no cover plus no-man’s-land behind you equals dead Terezi. Does not compute- the equation can’t result in dead Terezi.

“What? Nah, I’m not dumb. I know that you’re plenty capable of kickin’ an ass or two even with shit eyes.” You actually detect a hint of respect in Eridan’s tone. That makes it worse, somehow. His approval feels grimy against your skin, like you rolled around in a sewer. “I just… I dunno. I figured nobody’d see you until there were like three of us left and then you’d swoop down like fuckin’ Batman and kick all their asses.”

“Not a bad plan!” You cackle. “Help me work on my one-liners?”

“Heh, sure.” Eridan puts a hand up to his mangled ear. You wonder what happened to it. There appears to have been a crude attempt at bandaging it, to no avail- the bandages were bled through in a hurry. That means he doesn’t have any friends with him to do it right.

That’s useful info. You need to keep him talking so you can gather more- and search for a way out. “So what happened to your ear?” You ask cheerily. “Sudden whim to pierce it?”

“Nah, it got nicked by Jade Harley!” Eridan fumes. “Took half the earlobe off and I bet that bitch laughed when she did it!”

Jade… no way she’d start the fight. Eridan must have instigated and gotten what he deserved. You nod. “That’s rough, man. How bad’s the pain?”

“Not terrible, just a pain in my ass. I can barely hear out of this ear anymore.” Partial deafness on the right side. Good. “What about you? You look like you just went twelve rounds with the forest and lost.”

You must be a mess. You have no idea, because you can’t actually see what you look like. You have a vague idea of your face from touching it all over, but you can just put together the components: an eye, another eye, a nose, a mouth, but there’s no cohesion between them to you. You’ve been told you’re, quoth Dave Strider, “bamming slamming bootylicious”, so that’s good.

“I slept in a tree last night,” you answer truthfully. “With eyes like mine, I need that sort of insurance. All I can basically do is run away if someone wants to fight- though I’m pretty good at that.”

Eridan nods, that was definitely a nodding motion. He’s made up his mind. “I guess you wouldn’t be a really good ally…”

Great, he’s going to try to kill you. That’s exactly what you need today.

“No thanks,” you answer cheerfully. “I prefer the cool lone wolf approach. Doesn’t mean you and I have to be enemies, though.”

“Yeah…” Eridan takes a long moment to answer, and he doesn’t breathe in the interval. “Listen, uh, I know this is gonna sound a bit weird, but… would you be interested in makin’ out or somethin’?”

Well then. Not unexpected. “I’m good,” you reply flatly. “I’d say something like ‘a girl would have to be blind’ to kiss you, but I’m pretty sure you’re actually reasonably handsome.”

“I am?” His voice swells with pride. “So why not? I mean, all you can do is run away. You know you aren’t goin’ to win, so why not have some fun before someone… y’know, takes you down.”

Someone like you? “Well, making out is a lot of fun! A lot of tongue involved.” You stick yours out at him. “But I’m not interested in doing it with you.”

“And why’s that?”

“Long and short of it, I think you’re scum!” You smile at Eridan, showing him your teeth. “An arrogant, cruel bastard who lucked out with a decent weapon and’s been trying to kill everyone he’s met since.”

“Careful Pyrope,” Eridan says, his voice a harsh whisper. “That kind of talk can cost you.”

“Oh, like you planned on letting me leave. Tell me, Eridan, who’d you kill with that gun? Nobody big and strong, they’d scare you away.” You put a hand to your chin. “Hell, let’s eliminate boys altogether. Olga would wipe the floor with you, so not her. It’s not Naga or Aradia, I’ve already eliminated them. Who’s that leave?”

“Why can you eliminate Naga and-”

“Kanaya, Feferi, Isabel, Casey, and Shelby,” you say thoughtfully. “But Shelby and Casey died last night, and I didn’t hear any rat-a-tat-tats then. I did hear quite a few gunshots after noon from you, but Isabel faced her death before noon. That leaves only two possibilities. Kanaya or Feferi, Eridan?”

“I-”

“Kanaya or Feferi?” You ask with a big, cheery smile, letting your bag drop from your shoulder to into your waiting palm.

“…Feferi! And y’know what? You’re gonna join her!” Eridan raises his gun and points it at you. “I’ve had it with your condescendin’ shit, Pyrope. You think you’re so much smarter and better than I am, huh? Let’s see how smart you are with half a pound of lead in your guts!”

You throw your bag at Eridan and sprint off diagonally. A piercing series of shots bursts your bag behind you, but the recoil throws Ampora’s aim long enough for you to turn around and run.

No time to rest. You move in a zig-zag, the proper way to flee from an onslaught of bullets. This bit is critical- you’ve been caught in the open by an armed opponent, and you either will find cover or die.

You make it to the treeline and start heading deeper in, stepping lightly as you listen to Eridan approach. He’s fast, as fast as you if not faster, but he can’t move subtly. He’ll come bursting into the no-man’s-land like a stampede of elephants.

Of course, being caught in front of a stampede of elephants is fatal.

You need to get around Eridan and out of here. It won’t be easy- he’s going to be hunting you, and with your visibility decreasing with every passing second, you won’t have much time to tire him out enough to escape. And of course, there’s the matter of the ticking clock. You have less than an hour to get out of the zone before your collar goes nuclear.

You have your cane and the traps you placed. Eridan has a semi-automatic weapon. You know that he can’t hear perfectly out of his right ear. He knows that you can’t see more than five feet in front of you with any clarity.

You’re at a major disadvantage. But there is one variable on your side:

You’re Terezi fucking Pyrope. And you won’t lose to some skinny rich kid with stupid hair.

You take a moment to locate Eridan, traipsing around behind you. You need to lead him into one of your traps. Let’s see… ah, perfect.

You purposefully make a noise, rapping your cane against the tree, and then take off running. Manipulate his path and send him sprinting right into-

Eridan trips one of your traps, his foot pulling on a vine that’s been stretched taut at shin height. Squawking in surprise, he trips and crashes to the ground.

You weigh your options. You can charge in and attack, hopefully bash his head in with your cane before he can squeeze a slug into your guts. No… it’s too risky. Frontal assaults are doomed. Can’t get behind him with the forest so dense.

 _Think three dimensionally_ , you recall your mother telling you once. _Every problem has more angles than it does when you take your first look at it_. It seems that this example might be a bit more literal than what she meant, but it stands.

You grab the trunk of a nearby tree and shimmy up, wrapping your arms around the first solid branch you find. All those long hours of push-ups and pull-ups are finally coming in handy for something that isn’t beating Dave in arm wrestling.

Pulling yourself onto a branch about ten or twelve feet off the ground, you go into a sitting position and locate Eridan. He’s stumbled to his feet, his head shaking wildly in search of you.

“Pyrope?” He asks uncertainly. “You still there?” There’s a slight ticking coming off Eridan, you realize- he has a timepiece on his person.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say, throwing your voice. It’s a good trick, one you perfected long ago. You mostly used it to screw with Karkat, but now you’ve found a slightly more useful use for it. “What, you think I’d walk out on our first date? Ahahahahaha!”

Truth be told, it wasn’t really that funny. But you’re stressed, and laughing makes you feel slightly better. Your laugh is awful and terrifically creepy. You love it. Plus, it makes Eridan flinch and point his gun in the exactly wrong opposite direction.

Great. Now you just wait for your opening to get out of here. Can’t be too long.

* * *

Holy hell, this guy is persistent.

Eridan’s dogged you for who knows how long, entirely unimpeded by his repeated stumbling into your traps. You got him with an ankle trap, but he shot through the rope and got back up. He sprung one of your bent-back sticks, nailing him in the nose with a high-velocity piece of wood, but he wiped the blood streaming from his nostrils and kept coming.

You’ve had a few close calls, too. Every time you’ve thought the coast to get out is clear, Eridan’s appeared to block your path. You’ve had to freeze like a statue, reducing your breaths to shallow gasps so he won’t see you.

You thought that outwitting arrogant, indolent Eridan would be child’s play, but it’s ended up being more like one of those stealth games Vriska would play while you’d watch the pretty colors and pretend to know what was happening. She died- a lot.

And you have no idea what time it is- the timepiece you got was in your bag, the one Eridan blew up. It can’t have been less than fifty minutes, though, which leaves you with precious few minutes before kaboom. Dead Terezi. Does not compute. The equation cannot equal Dead Terezi.

Gripping your cane tightly, you stare glassily at Eridan searching for you. The sky’s now dark grey, and your vision has been reduced to a mushy blur. You’ve got scrapes and bruises on your arms and legs, you’re exhausted and barely on your feet, and if you kept this game up, you’ll either run out of time or get shot.

You need to run, now. Even if Eridan sees you, maybe he’s more tired than you. Maybe he’ll trip, maybe he’ll give up. Something. You take a second to make sure you’re facing the right way, glance at Eridan, and breathe deeply.

Go.

You take off in a sprint, and you hear footsteps behind you- Eridan’s on your trail almost immediately. _He can’t hit me if I keep moving,_ you think as you run, your lungs burning like they were coated in liquid fire. _He can’t hit me if I keep moving. He can’t._

You run as your body scream in protest, as your legs grind like the rickety sacks of water with bits of bone they are, as you greedily suck in air as quick as you can. You need to get out of the zone. First and foremost, you need to escape the zone.

The clearing’s ahead. You surge ahead with your ninth or tenth wind and push into the clearing. Eridan’s still behind you, though, and he’ll shoot you dead if you stop. He can’t hit me if I keep moving. _He can’t hit me if I keep moving. He can’t hit me if I-_

You feel your feet leave the ground and you hit the ground nose-first. Your glasses clatter off your face and your nose bursts like a tomato. You groan and sit up, rubbing your nose.

Your foot’s still touching what you tripped over: the line in the ground you made with your cane. _Well at least I’m out of the zone,_ you think dazedly.

You look up, and the blue blob that you’ve come to associate with Eridan is standing a few feet away from you. The dark grey gun blob is in his hand. “That was a merry fuckin’ chase,” he says with a pant. “Gotta hand it to you Pyrope, I really do- you are one slippery bitch.”

You stare at the gun, saying nothing.

“What? Nothin’ left to say? No witty remarks, no shitty puns? Is it because you realize that I’ve beaten you, that you’re gonna die and no one’s gonna mourn you?”

“…Eridan,” you say quietly. “Just one quick thing, and then you can shoot me as many times as you like. What time is it?”

“What?”

“The time. I heard ticking coming from you earlier, you have your timepiece on you, right?”

Eridan slowly draws a small object from his pocket. “It’s… six fifty nine. Wait, seven. Why?”

“Oh, no reason,” you say with a haggard smile. “I just want you to consider why I drew this line in the ground.”

You’d like to imagine Eridan’s eyes widening in dawning horror. A slight beeping starts to emerge from his collar. _Beep. Beep. Beep._ “You don’t… is this…?”

“Eridan Ampora!” You boom, not sure where you’re getting the energy to yell. “I charge you with the murder of Feferi Peixes, the attempted murder of Jade Harley, the attempted murder of Court Officer Terezi Pyrope, and, perhaps most damningly of all, carelessness in not checking to see if you were fighting me in a no-man’s-land.” You close your eyes and enjoy the rapidly increasing beeping noise coming from his collar. _Beep Beep. Beep Beep. Beep Beep. Beep Beep Beep._

“No. No!” Eridan runs forward, trying to get over the line. You throw yourself back, landing on your tailbone, and kick out at his center mass. It’s a crude and simple move, but it works. Both your muddy sneakers find Eridan’s stomach and he goes sprawling back. He lands on his ass, clutching his stomach. “No,” he says, tearfully and desperately. _Beep Beep Beep Beep. Beep Beep Beep Beep._ “No, please, I don’t want to-”

“I find you guilty and sentence you to death,” you say. “Now please face your execution with dignity, and do the court the favor of shutting the hell up.”

_Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep. Beeeeeeeep._

Boom.

Eridan’s head bursts like a tomato. The force of the explosion must have traveled upwards, because it decides to redistribute what was once the cranium of Ampora everywhere. His jaw tears off his body, sending his tongue drooping heavily down. His glasses shatter and fly off in tiny black pieces. You see a dark shape you imagine to be his scalp rocket off his head as shards of red jelly with white shards go flying in every direction, a particularly large piece landing in your lap. You stare down at the crimson mush, which… yeah. That’s half a bloodshot eyeball in there.

You shove the piece of Eridan off you and look back at him. For a second, the exploded form of him remains standing before sinking in a heap to the ground.

You giggle. “I won,” you say. “I won!” Adrenaline floods you, a warm bath of triumph. You throw your head back and start laughing hysterically. “I won, I won, ahahaha, _I won!_ ”

“Congratulations,” says a hard voice from behind you that sends a chill through every bit of you. You slowly turn, hoping you imagined the noise.

You didn’t. Ten feet was is a tall figure with large hair and streaks of blood all over him. It can only be one person. “Gamzee Makara,” you say tiredly, locating your cane and rising to your feet with what little strength you have left. “How long have you been there?”

“Just about half a minute,” Gamzee says calmly. “Wanted to see how this shit’d pan out. Sick moves, Pyrope. You’re a mother fucking madwoman, I love it.”

“Thanks. That’s nice of you to say.” It’s getting really hard to fake cheeriness. “I think you’re really crazy, too.”

“Aww, now you’re butterin’ me up. I’ll give ya mother fucking nice, check out what’s left of Ampora,” Gamzee says, pointing with the wooden object in his hands- a baseball bat or something? “Guess he actually did have a brain after all! We’ve got empirical mother fucking evidence now.”

“I deem the exhibit admissible,” you say weakly. You can barely stand, even using the cane as a walking stick instead of for seeing. Fighting Eridan drained every bit of you, and the warm feeling you got after taking him down is dissipating into vapor. Your chest feels raw and empty, and your head is heavy with sleep and dehydration.

All the hurts and pains and weakness you’ve suffered in the past hour are flooding down, crushing you beneath their weight. “So now what, Gamzee?” You ask. “I’m a bit weary for banter, so maybe we can skip to the meaty part of the conversation?”

“Sure. I’m hella pissed. You’re in front of me. I gotta turn every motherfucker in this island into a mangled pile of meat.” Gamzee swaggers forward a few steps. His voice, soft and deadly like a poison, quickly transforms into a demonic screech. “NOW WHY DON’T YOU MOTHER FUCKING DIE?”

He charges at you, and you strafe. You can’t move back, there’s an invisible wall of death. You can’t move forward, you can barely lift your arms and Gamzee will kill you in a hurry. Running is your only hope, and it’s an astonishingly slim one.

A raindrop falls on your nose.

You sprint to the side, your legs turning to mush. It’s physically painful to run, but the increasing thundering of Gamzee’s long legs behind you keeps you going. The equation cannot result in Dead Terezi. If you run and run and don’t stop, then you’ll live.

But you’re too clever to mislead yourself like that. Gamzee’s faster than you are, and you’re all out of adrenaline. You hear his bat come down, so you pivot and block with your cane.

The impact sends shockwaves through your arms, making them feel like jelly. Only now can you see that there are multiple long objects stuck through the bloody bat- nails, probably. You desperately hold the terrifying weapon at bay.

Gamzee doesn’t bother overpowering you. His leg shoots up and connects with your sternum, buckling you back. He hits like a freight train and your balance has waned considerably, so you go sprawling into a tree. You hit hard, gasping for the breath that was forced from you.

You try to stumble forward, but suddenly a white hot pain flashes over your face and sticks there. You scream in shock and anguish, grabbing your face as rich blood spurts up.

Your legs finally leave you, and you sink to the ground, still clutching the cut. It hurts so bad, you can’t believe it. You press your hands to the fiery slash.

You peer through at a long, silver object in Gamzee’s hand. “Is that a fencing foil?” You ask weakly.

“Yeah. Haven’t had a chance to try it out yet, so I’m thinking you’d be a good place to do a trial run.” Gamzee giggles manically. “I wanna hear you, motherfucker. I wanna hear you motherfucking SCREAM!”

The blade flies out, tearing down your right arm. You gasp as your bicep and forearm are opened like a ripe fruit, and your arm is consumed by the worst pain you’ve ever felt. As the world becomes a blur of grey and red, you can see a flash of white bone.

It hurts too bad to scream.

“I SAID SCREAM, YOU UGLY CUNT!” Gamzee roars, his blade opening your other arm too. Your chest pulses out and a sob escapes your lips, but not screaming is surprisingly easy. Tears, hot and bitter, stream down your face, but you won’t give this sick son of a bitch the satisfaction of your cries.

He stares at you for a moment before bringing the sword into your side, slicing you open at about belly button level. You feel the tear in you weep blood.

When folks die, they get scared, or upset, or shocked or maybe even happy. You’re a bit different. None of those dying emotions fill you.

You’re furious. “Gamzee…Makara,” you say weakly, your bum eyes trained on him. Some point in all of this, your glasses fell off. You don’t know where they are. “You are accused of-” his sword flickers across your chest, leaving a long and shallow cut below your collar bone. You swallow the surge of pain and continue. “Accused of the murders of untold numbers of your fellow students and of me, Court Official Terezi Pyrope.”

“You really wanna go out like that?” Gamzee asks cruelly, and even you can see the massive smile on his face. The rain is intensifying.

“I’m the one asking the questions here, criminal scum,” you snap, feeling blood dribble down from your throat. It won’t stop you. Nothing can stop you. “I hereby find you guilty of all charges! For your crime, I sentence you to death!”

Gamzee just stands there. “Did you hear me, you waste of skin and breath?!” You shout at the top of your lungs. “I sentence you to death! Death! Death! Death! Death! De-”

There’s a metallic taste on your tongue. You look down to find the sword’s been impaled through your open mouth.

There’s an enormous pain in the back of your head.

“You talk too much,” says Gamzee quietly. “Shut the fuck up.”

You try to talk, but you can’t- he speared through your tongue. The pain slowly leaves you, your body relaxing as the increasing rain mingles with the blood pouring from your wounds. The rain’s heavy, so heavy. So are your eyes.

Gamzee turns around and walks away, your cane in his hand. He’s soon out of view, though your vision is now confined to three feet in front of you.

Then two.

One.

You’re blind.

END OF CHAPTER FIFTEEN


	22. Flashback Six: Skaia High School, Athletic's Field

Two months before Aradia's "accident"...

TAVROS: fUCK, oW,

TAVROS: wHY DID YOU DO THAT,

VRISKA: I wanted to see how easy it would 8e to push you down!

VRISKA: The answer, it seems, is very easy. 8ut is it 8ecause you have shitty 8um legs or 8ecause you’re just a completely pathetic wimp?

VRISKA: My money’s on 8oth.

TAVROS: oKAY, uHH, yOU CAN’T DO THAT,

TAVROS: tHAT REALLY HURT,

VRISKA: Oh? Are you going to do anything to stop me?

VRISKA: Ohhhhhhhh, and there go wh8ver protests you might have!

VRISKA: You’re not just a 8itch, Tavros, you’re my 8itch. And you always will 8e!!!!!!!!

ARADIA: thats en0ugh vriska

ARADIA: i have seen m0re than en0ugh 0f this advanced bullshittery

VRISKA: Oh!

VRISKA: Hey Aradia, what’s up? 8rought any roadkill to school recently?

ARADIA: 0kay that was 0ne time and it was an accident

ARADIA: i was g0ing t0 take it 0ut 0f my backpack when i g0t h0me i just

ARADIA: wait

ARADIA: fuck y0u i will n0t let y0u drive me 0ff t0pic

VRISKA: Heheheh, you’re a laugh riot Megido.

VRISKA: Look at you, all pissy! It’s adora8le, like a tiny 8arking dog.

ARADIA: im n0t kidding ar0und here

ARADIA: i have let 0ther pe0ple take the lead with y0u bef0re because it wasnt my business

ARADIA: but kanaya is fed up with y0ur shit and terezi has bigger fish t0 fry

ARADIA: and since y0uve decided t0 step y0ur abuse 0f tavr0s up fr0m verbal t0 physical the burden 0f kicking y0ur ass has fallen 0nt0 me

VRISKA: Ooooooooh, I’m terrified! Please don’t glare at me ineffectually, Aradia! I’ll do anything, just not that!!!!!!!!

VRISKA: ::::)

ARADIA: urgh why d0 y0u have t0 be s0 unrelentingly awful

ARADIA: i literally just want y0u n0t t0 hurt pe0ple im n0t asking f0r the fucking w0rld

ARADIA: particularly n0t my friends

ARADIA: and ive seen h0w y0u react t0 p0sitive feedback it d0es n0t w0rk

ARADIA: s0me0ne like y0u 0nly understands vi0lence s0 thats what im g0ing t0 threaten y0u with

VRISKA: Yeah, you’re right. I only understand violence.

VRISKA: And you know what? I’m really good at it, too! I can do what I like, and if you want to stop me, you’ll have to start speaking my language.

VRISKA: Do you want to fight me? Stop me? Make me pay?

VRISKA: Then you’ve got two choices: you can go that shitty little shack you call a house and pray that we get chosen for The Program, or you can fight me right here and right now.

ARADIA: im tempted

ARADIA: but i have this weird funny little thing called basic human decency

ARADIA: maybe y0u heard ab0ut it 0nce 0r twice

ARADIA: i am g0ing t0 give y0u a warning n0w vriska

ARADIA: futilely i kn0w because y0ull d0 it again

ARADIA: and when y0u d0 i will be there

ARADIA: and i will feed y0u y0ur teeth

VRISKA: Hmm. You’re serious, aren’t you?

ARADIA: dead seri0us

VRISKA: Well then, I guess I’ll have to make you just dead!

VRISKA: Watch your 8ack.

VRISKA: Arrivederci, Megido ::::)

ARADIA: ...

ARADIA: 0kay i think shes g0ne

ARADIA: are y0u alright tavr0s

TAVROS: tHE ONLY PART OF ME THAT’S HURT IS, uHH, mY PRIDE,

TAVROS: hEHEHEH,

TAVROS: tHANK YOU FOR THE HELP, aRADIA,

ARADIA: its fine but i wish i didnt have t0 d0 it

ARADIA: why cant y0u just stand up t0 her tavr0s

ARADIA: shes just a cheap bully if y0u present a t0ugher target shell leave y0u al0ne

TAVROS: i KNOW, iT’S, uHH,

TAVROS: cOMPLICATED,

TAVROS: i DON’T KNOW IF I’LL EVER BE ABLE TO STAND UP TO HER,

ARADIA: ill try t0 help y0u 0ut with that then

ARADIA: well beat her t0gether :)

TAVROS: }:)


	23. Never The Ones You Expect

Your name is Tavros Nitram and you’re on your last legs.

Maybe not the best metaphor? Insofar as you’re only able to support your own weight for a few seconds at a time and need a walking stick or crutches to be more than even slightly mobile. You were only able to leave the classroom without them because of sheer terror holding you aloft. You fell on your face the moment you went through the door.

You didn’t think this was going to work out well, of course not. It’s The Program, shorthand for well and truly fucked. You know you aren’t going to win, and you’ve realized you don’t have suicide in you. This is limbo- facing the gates of hell but not allowed to walk through them.

And that’s… well, it isn’t fine, you don’t think, but you can sort of accept it. You never saw yourself as worth very much, not terribly bright or strong or useful. You’re no great loss to anyone but your parents. To the rest of the world you’ll be a statistic, a minor bit of Program trivia. You doubt you’ll be prominently featured on the DVD or anything.

Even though you don’t have hope for yourself, you at least thought things might be okay for your friends. You’ve been blessed to know some really amazing people- geniuses and saints and temporally displaced warrior princes. In another life, your friends were heroes who changed the world. You? Maybe some kind of insect scurrying across the floor.

And they’re all going to die just like you.

You never thought about it that way until you encountered Gamzee earlier today- you’re not the only one who’s about to die. Your classmates are dropping every time you turn around. Feferi Peixes will never save the world, Equius Zahhak will never be a great inventor, Terezi Pyrope won’t bring an end to all crime. And whoever the survivor is, they probably won’t do much either. They’ll end up like Aradia or Gamzee, a shell of a body filled with a different person than the one you came to know.

Die or go crazy. That’s the choice, isn’t it? You can feel crazy’s eyes on you, too, thoughts of pure despair crushing you under their oppressive weight.

All you want is for this to be over, and if dying is the only way for this to end, then so be it. You don’t want to die, you’re far too much of a coward to accept your fate gracefully, but it hurts so badly. The agony in Gamzee’s eyes and voice… a view of a man in progress of being emptied and replaced with something else. He wasn’t always like that- oh he was troubled, and he had some big (if hush-hush) problems at home, but a savage? A monster? No, never. You still have some trouble accepting what’s plain in front of your nose.

Who knows what’s happened to the rest of your classmates? Kanaya said Jade was okay, thank god, but how long will that last? What about Dave- he’s not the most stable dude in the world, how much of this can he take? How will John keep his optimism in the face of the blackest recesses your species? Hell, what about Vris-

No. No, can’t think about her. That girl has caused you more than enough pain in her life, you won’t let her hurt you again. Not even in your own imagination.

You’ve come back to the beach, although a different one than the one you were on earlier. There’s a lighthouse in the distance, which you considered hiking to before remembering you have no adequate way to get up the stairs. For now, you’ve been sitting on the beach and watching the waves. You did this a lot back home, going to the sea and just watching the water. The sea never changes, and even when you’re all long gone, it’ll still be there. That’s comforting, somehow.

But even your view of the sea is tainted somewhat by the sight of a patrol boat circling the island. Like anyone would ever swim out- wherever this island is, it’s far away enough from the mainland that no landmasses can be seen from anywhere on the island.

The rain started a little bit ago. The sky went from shallow grey to a shifting, hopeless darkness. It’s only a little past seven in late spring, but soon enough it’ll be dark and wet and you’ll have to find shelter. Not that there’s really a point- what’s the worst that happens, you die with the sniffles?

But the rain does have one effect- it combines with the roar of the sea to drown out a good chunk of your hearing. You don’t hear the footsteps behind you until they’re right upon you.

You glance behind you. Oh. It’s her.

“Taaaaaaaavros,” sings Vriska gleefully. “I foooooooound you.”

She looks awful. Her wild hair, usually restrained in a ponytail, hangs damply around her shoulders. Big ugly bruises decorate her thin face, dried blood is encrusted beneath her nose. Her uniform is torn and filthy with dirt and tree resin and… is that blood?

“H-h-hi, Vriska,” you say nervously, turning to face her. Your stutter gets a lot worse around her; always has.

“Man, you look pristine.” Vriska’s lips are curled into a small sneer. “Just wet. You haven’t been through, hahah, been through shit, have you?”

“You m-mean k-kill someone?” You swallow hard, trying to clear your voice up a bit. It’s weird, you felt nothing but despairing acceptance when Gamzee was instants from savaging you to death, but your legs feel weak(er) and your heart feels hollow in your chest.

You’re afraid.

“Yeah, kill someone. Shoot ‘em or stab ‘em or strangle ‘em, whatever your weapon is.” Vriska smiles fondly as she rocks back and forth, hips tilting towards and away from you. Her clothes are getting drenched in rain, progressively clinging tighter and tighter to her bony body. “That’s how you win, isn’t it? But I’d be surprised if you’ve killed so much as a bug since you got here. Am I right, of course I’m right.”

You never doubted that Vriska would play this game- never. She was built for it. Vriska is a tiny girl, short and skinny, but she’d take on a whole army and be sure she’d win the whole time. That sort of confidence can’t be bought or earned, it’s something that she was born with.

And in spite of all her attempts to “toughen you up”, you just don’t have that. “I haven’t hurt an-anyone.” You don’t need to ask if she has. “Are you f-feeling alright?”

“I’m f-f-f-f-f-f-f-fine,” she says in cruel imitation of your stutter. “I’m great! So much stuff is clear now, Tavros. So much, heh, that I never would have understood otherwise.”

You just nod. Vriska likes to talk. Letting her talk is the best way to get her in a good mood.

“For instance,” she says, “I never got how easy it is to lose. We don’t have health bars, we don’t have med packs. We’re just sacks of water, Tavros, sacks of water with little hard bits that let us move around. And pain? I never knew real pain until I got here. This?” Vriska points to the shiny purple bruise on her cheek. “This really fucking hurts, let me tell you. At home, I get a bruise, I just take it a bit easy ‘til it heals. I’ll have this for the rest of the game, and everyone I meet from now on has a big target to hit. That’s real pain- the pain that makes surviving harder. Do you have any idea how that feels?” Vriska chuckles blackly, her hips still swaying.

Before you can answer, Vriska’s talking again. “Of course not, you don’t even have blood on you. But this is a game, don’t get me wrong. A hardcore game with no extra lives, no continues, and no mercy. I wish…” Vriska rolls her hand around a few times, searching for the words. “I wish I could play a bunch of times. Go to a menu after I win and select new game. It’s so damn fun, heheheh, it makes me a little sad that this will be the last time I ever play it.” Vriska smiles fondly. “Have you killed anyone, Tavros? It’s awesome. The life, the stuff that makes them _them_ , you get to watch it pour out. You look at the body and you go, _‘I did this. I took this from them and now it belongs to me forever’_. You’re just better than they are, unequivocally. Do you know how fucking great that feels?”

“N… no, I don’t.”

“Of course you don’t,” Vriska spits, her demeanor hardening. “What do you know, Tavros? How to cry, how to hide. You don’t even know how to run, not with those shitty legs of yours. You probably haven’t learned anything since you got here. Just standing around waiting for someone better than you to come along and end your miserable little life, yeah?”

“Th-that’s not true,” you manage. “I saw- I saw-”

“Oh shut up,” she says, her right hand coming out with a long black object- a pistol. “You think that this is important, that what’s happening to you matters. You’re nothing, Tavros. Every game needs a main character and then some assholes to play support. What do you think you are?”

You eye the gun apprehensively. You can see forever down the black barrel. Your weapon is a fucking stuffed animal, you have no defense against this. Once again, it seems, you’re at the non-existent mercy of Vriska Serket.

“I’m going to kill you, Tavros,” says Vriska gleefully. “I’m going to shoot you with my gun and I’m going to watch you die. I’m going to take every pathetic bit of you and subsume it into myself. You’ll exist as a tiny part of me. True, someone as weak and worthless as you won’t really make me a lot stronger, but hey, it’s better than nothing.”

“What do you m-mean?” You ask, shying back. The idea of Vriska killing you feels… well, not _right_ , but it sits okay. Poetic, a little, maybe. You always had a feeling she’d be the one to take your life.

“I’ve already cut down a couple of our classmates,” she says casually. “And here’s the weird bit, Tavros- I can feel them thrashing around in my chest. I can feel a little piece of them still inside of me. They’re dead, but some aspect of them survives in the awesomeness that is me. For instance, Kanaya’s made me a bit more… alert.”

“You… killed Kanaya?”

“Yeah! I waited for her to turn her back on me, the dumbass, and I put one through her throat. Blam!” She raises the gun and mimes a shot at you. “Then I watched her bleed to death on the floor. She died slow. Sloooooooow.”

Kanaya Maryam? The girl who you saved from Gamzee, the one good deed you committed since you were dropped on this island? You had heard Scratch’s announcement, sure, and it had upset you. You imagined Kanaya had gone out with dignity, though, fighting to protect someone or being defeated in a fair duel. Instead, Vriska shot her in the back and she died in pain.

And nothing will ever change that.

“Aww, what’s the matter?” asks Serket in a mocking falsetto. “Something wrong, Tavros? You miss her? She’s right here in front of you.”

“S-s-s-stop talking about her,” you choke out. “You muh-murdered her, and you don’t even care.”

“I do care! Maryam was a friend of mine too, kinda sorta. How many times do I have to explain this super simple concept? She’s still here, as part of me.” Vriska grins, the rain falling from the creases in her face that form when she does. Her hair is now totally soaked around her skull. “I can feel myself growing more bitchy and meddlesome by the second. Now Aradia, she’s a different story.”

You freeze.

“God, she was always such a freak,” Vriska sneers. “She didn’t know what was good for her from a bullet to the chest, and in the end they ended up being the same. She made this great little sizzling noise after I shot her heart out, tssssssss….”

Your mind flashes to Aradia Megido: bold, kind, courageous Aradia, and then the sullen, cold, dead Aradia that replaced her. You never had proof, but you never doubted her “accident” was the doing of Vriska.

Vriska took your friend’s personality and relationships away from her, and that still wasn’t enough. She took her life, as well. Your eyes well up with tears and you feel your body begin to tremble.

“What’s wrong, Tavros? You’ve got a funny look on your face.” Vriska waves her pistol around at you vaguely. “You mad? Is that what that is? Are you pissed because I killed your little girlfriends? Buddy, Aradia died close to a year ago and Kanaya… heh, Kanaya had her own problems.” She takes a step towards you. “If you’re so pissed I killed them, why don’t you come join them? I put one between your eyes and you can spend the remainder of your miserable exist-”

You punch her.

Vriska goes down- your upper body is deceptively strong and you’ve got a hefty chunk of muscle over Serket. She points the gun at you but you hit her in the wrist with your stick, sending her gun into the sand.

“Ow, fuck!” She shouts. “The fuck are you doing, asswipe? I’m trying to-”

“ _Just shut up!_ ” You wail, throwing yourself at her. You’ve had enough. Vriska has abused and insulted and demeaned you for years, and you took it like an asshole, but you will not stand by and listen to her gloat about murdering your friends.

She has to pay.

You go for Vriska’s throat and face, your fists balling up and hammering down onto her soggy form. Your good leg, meanwhile, pins her gun arm in place, knee fixed onto her bicep. “Shut up shut up _shut up shut up shut up!_ ” You scream, tears streaming down your face.

Vriska tries to block your attacks with her free hand, and she does fend off a few shots, but you get some good licks in all the same. Her lip turns into a crimson smear, her glasses splinter and crack when you hit one of the lenses. You hiss in pain as itty bitty shards of glass embed into your hand, but you don’t care. She has to pay. You’ll make her pay.

Vriska’s legs kick and flail beneath you, desperately trying to buck you off, but she’s so much weaker than you are. You never knew- you spent so much being afraid of her that you never noticed how physically unimposing she really is.

She didn’t kill fair. She killed your friends like they were animals, and she laughed about it. “Tavros-” she manages before barely deflecting a heavy punch you rain onto her head.

“I said _shut up!_ ” You just want her to stop talking, and you’ll do what has to be done so she’ll stop.

Forever.

“ _I’ll kill you!_ ” You declare between sobs (you’ve been crying pretty hard, you realize). “ _I’ll fucking kill you!_ ”

“No you won’t,” says a calm female voice from above you. You look up and a foot makes contact with your nose.

You fall back, clutching your nose with your hands. It’s bleeding, probably broken, and the pain burns red hot. Blood dribbling between your fingers, you look at your attacker.

The transfer student. You forget her name. P-something. Her foot sets down gracefully and she removes a long curved blade from a sheath on her belt. She peers at you from behind matted white bangs. “Goodbye,” she says without emotion.

You open your mouth to say something, tell her that this is a misunderstanding and that Vriska was threatening you, she’s the dangerous one, not you, but you have no time. She crosses the distance between the two of you like she was a bolt of lightning given form. The steel comes up-

_Hkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk_

You are now Vriska Serket, and that is not a pretty sight.

The sword was stuck up into the soft flesh beneath Tavros’ chin, torpedoing up until the tip sticks out from the crown of his forehead. His mouth is open in shock, and you can see bloody steel separating his mouth into two chambers. The rest of his face is scrunched like it’s being sucked into a vortex- his nose has pulled down so hard that bone is showing at the bridge, and his eyes are bloodshot and lolling.

He makes a low rasping noise when Pandora withdraws her blade before falling to the ground. His blood makes the grey sand crimson.

You look up at his killer, catching her eyes- slit, cold, unfeeling. The eyes of a machine. “Hello,” she says to you. “Are you alright?”

You grope the sand to your sides for your gun, but you can’t find it. Where in the hell did it go?

God, everything hurts. There are little pieces of glass in your eye that make it impossible to open all the way, you can feel that your lip and nose have been bloodied, and you’re probably going to have several more bruises to join the one Terezi gave you.

You can’t possibly fight Pandora. She’s fast and strong and has a damned fine weapon. Even with your gun, you’re not sure if you could beat her.

It doesn’t seem you’ll have to, though. A pair of figures is sprinting to join you. You squint. Is that…?

“John?”

“Vriska,” says John Egbert, a massive grin on his face. “Oh god, you have no idea how glad I am to see you.”

Before you can reply he throws his arms around you, engulfing your small frame. “I knew I’d find you,” he says, his head on your shoulder. “I was so worried about you, but I knew that you’d be able to survive long enough for us to meet again.”

“She barely did,” says another voice, a hard female voice. You squirm around enough to catch sight of Rose Lalonde. She looks like hell, though probably not as much as you. Her eye is covered by a bandage and she’s got dried blood on her damp uniform. “I didn’t expect this sort of thing from Tavros.”

“Didn’t really know the guy,” admits Pandora. “But he seemed harmless enough. It’s never the ones you expect.”

“It’s too bad about Tavros,” John agrees sadly. “He was a good guy. Why did he attack you?”

“I… I don’t know. I saw him on the beach and came up to him,” you say, thinking fast. If they knew the truth, they might not be so sympathetic. “I just wanted someone to talk to, I was…He attacked me when I got too close.” You quiver your lip and bury your head into his shoulder. “Thank you for saving me!” You wail. Nobody can resist your crying. It’s a certifiable fact. “I was so scared!”

“Shh. It’s alright, Vriska. I’m here now,” says John in an awkward attempt to be soothing. “I can’t believe Tavros of all people…”

“Mild-mannered means nothing. I’ve seen the nicest kids in the class turn into demons,” says Pandora. “And eyes don’t lie. I saw him attacking Vriska, and I heard him scream ‘ _I’ll kill you_ ’. It isn’t exactly up to interpretation. I don’t really know Vriska very well, though.”

“She’s cunning,” sniffs Rose. “Though not as intelligent as she believes herself to be. It is possible she was planning to kill Tavros and simply got careless, allowing him to turn the tables on her.”

“So what are you thinking?”

“Better to be safe,” says Rose frostily, her hand going to the front of her skirt. Your heart skips a beat as the handle of a pistol comes into view.

“What the hell are you two talking about?” asks John, a sharpness to his voice. He separates from you and furrows his brow at Lalonde. “Just look at her, does that look like a killer?”

You must be a mess. Your hair is still down from Kanaya, and it’s quickly losing volume around the back of your head. You’re bleeding from your lip and nose, and you’ve got three or four smaller bruises to join the one Terezi gave you. Your arms ache fiercely from your desperate deflection of the rain of blows, too. You feel worse than you look, too- your nausea and the crawlings sensation on your skin has done nothing but worsened. You’ve never felt so low, and that’s no act.

“Put yourself in her shoes,” John says, positioning himself protectively in front of you. “Tavros wasn’t the strongest guy, but he’s way bigger than Vriska. He straddled her and tried to beat her to death.” John pauses, looking down at Tavros’ quivering corpse. “No, never mind, it’s not too bad about him,” he says angrily. “Anyone who attacks someone smaller and weaker than themself is unforgivable. Like Ronald, like Slick. Like you if you do this, Rose.”

Rose’s eyes widen in fury. “Don’t you dare compare me to those animals. Take it back.”

“You’re better than they are, I know you are. But if you kill Vriska now, how are you any different from them?”

“A fair point, really,” shrugs Pandora. “So you trust Vriska, John?”

“With my life,” he replies promptly. You feel your cheeks glow luminescently.

“I don’t.” Rose steps up to you and kneels, staring at you intently with her one good eye. Buildings have been weathered to dust by lesser stares. “Tell me everything you’ve done since you got to this island. If I believe your story, then you can live. If not, John, then you’ll accept what happens next.”

John bites his lip. “Vriska… okay. She’s innocent, so there’s nothing to hide. Go ahead.”

He’s an alright guy, John. He really cares about you, probably the only person left who does.

“Um…” You know not to hesitate too long. _If you must lie, lie quickly. A poor lie told quickly is better than an excellent one told hesitantly._ Wise words from your mother. “I didn’t really run into anyone on the first day, I was trying to keep my head down. I found this little shack that I slept in, or at least I tried to. I didn’t get much rest. I passed out from exhaustion eventually and slept ‘til like… almost noon. I ran into Terezi and she tried to kill me.”

The best lies are the truth with a slight alteration. You need to play the role of the shell-shocked scared little girl, and you will. No problem. It’ll be fun to craft a narrative to sell that.

“Terezi?” Asks Rose.

“Yeah. She was talking about justice and how everyone was guilty. She hit me with her cane, and let me tell you that it hurt like a bitch.” You point to your cheek. “I barely got away! Shit was harrowing.”

Rose says nothing, but you catch her nod ever so slightly. She buys that. She’s buying it.

“I spent some time hiding and catching my breath before I heard talking up ahead, so I went to check it out. It was Kanaya, she was talking to Simone Frost. Simone was looking for allies, but Kanaya rebuked her. Big mistake, I guess, ‘cuz Snowman shot her in the throat when she turned around.” You shiver. “I watched… I watched her die.”

“See, that goes with what Simone said to us,” says John.

“You guys met her?” You ask.

Rose points to her eye. “Yes… we did. Forgive me for being suspicious of newcomers, considering we all came a hair’s breadth from dying on account of her.”

“I barely got away from her too,” you reply. “I swear that she gave me a bit of a haircut with a bullet.”

Rose stands there, looking at you with an inscrutable coldness to her eyes. “Your weapon,” she finally says. “Where’s your weapon?”

“I get the third degree, Lalonde,” you say a bit irritably, “but this is starting to get a bit ridiculous.”

“I don’t trust you. Were it up to me, I’d have killed you by now.” Gotta give to Rose, she doesn’t play games. And you don’t doubt she’s telling the truth. “John trusts you, and he’s… well, I like him enough to keep him around.”

“Hey!”

Pandora chuckles. “Rose is right, though. If you can’t show us a weapon, I can’t see why we would trust you.” This girl has no need to level an “ _I’ll kill you_ ”. That calm smile on her face is all the death threat you need.

Wordlessly, you reach into your bag and root around until you find it- Aradia’s bullwhip. “Totally useless,” you say. “I tried cracking it a few times and just end up hurting my wrist.”

There’s something hard and metallic against your ass- your gun got buried in the sand when Tavros tried to…

Holy shit. Tavros _fucking_ Nitram tried to beat you to death with his bare hands. Not only that, he would have succeeded if these guys hadn’t intervened.

You blink a few times, trying to process that.

“That’s alright, Vriska,” says John soothingly. “I know a thing or two about useless weapons. Come with us back to our campsite, we’ll tell you about the astonishing horse shit that’s gone down since yesterday when this game started.”

“Bit longer for some of us,” says Pandora.

“What does that mean, Pandora?” You ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, you’ll find out,” she cryptically replies.

“Can we go?” Rose asks, tapping her foot against the sand, which kind of defeats the purpose of tapping a foot in your opinion. “My bandage has soaked through and I have rain in places I can’t talk about in mixed company.”

Rose and Pandora start to walk away, but John lingers. “You okay, Vriska?” He asks. “You have this… funny little smile.”

“I’m just happy, John,” you answer. “Happy to see you, and happy that you guys saved me. Things are really looking up for me! Now, uh, can you give me a second of privacy? I got a killer wedgie and it’s going to take some excavating to-”

“Alright, alright, I don’t need to hear anymore!” Says John, his face turning pink with embarrassment. He turns and jogs to join the girls.

When he’s a little ways off, you dig your hand into the sand and scoop out your gun. Sandy, but it should still fire- revolvers never jam. You spent one bullet on Aradia, one misfire at Terezi, and one on Kanaya. That leaves you with five bullets.

And when you’re done here, you’ll still have two left.

“Vriska!” John calls, causing you to stick the gun behind your back. “C’mon, let’s go!”

“Coming, John!” You call cheerfully, pushing the gun into the hem of your skirt, behind your underwear and then covering the handle with your vest. You grab your bag off the floor and run to join your new “allies”.

Heh. Dumbasses.

END OF CHAPTER SIXTEEN


	24. Flashback Seven: After School, Psidon City Outskirts

DAVE: okay check it   
DAVE: so were just talking like a couple of normal fucking folks   
DAVE: other than a lot of mentions of licking i wouldnt call it flirtatious   
DAVE: no more than usual anyways   
DAVE: she mentions her tits but this is nothing new again   
JOHN: and naturally, you started talking about them?   
DAVE: well what else am i gonna do thats a golden fucking opportunity   
JOHN: no no, i understand! continue.   
DAVE: right so im doing one of my amazing bits just riffing on tits and her tits   
DAVE: and terezi goes i bet you dont know the first thing about gazongas strider   
JOHN: she actually used the word gazongas?   
DAVE: of course she actually used the word gazongas   
JOHN: okay, hold on.   
JOHN: *ahem*   
JOHN: 1 B3T YOU DON’T KNOW TH3 F1RST TH1NG 4BOUT G4ZONG4S, STR1D3R! >:]   
DAVE: holy shit   
DAVE: thats uncanny haha   
JOHN: i’ve been working on it. want to hear me do you?   
DAVE: eh let’s save that blow to my self esteem for later   
DAVE: so i say i am the leading imperial expert on them and she just   
DAVE: lifts her shirt up in front of me   
JOHN: bullshit!   
DAVE: hand to fucking god dude   
DAVE: she has a birthmark under her collarbone   
DAVE: and   
DAVE: she was not wearing a bra   
JOHN: yeah right, dave. like i believe this shit. what is this, a harem anime?   
DAVE: dude its not funny i was cross eyed for the rest of the day   
DAVE: i still cant look straight at her   
JOHN: wow, sucks to be you!   
JOHN: girls flashing you, people throwing money at you as you walk down the street...   
JOHN: it’s a curse. you’re cursed.   
DAVE: this is what i get for having a blog   
DAVE: what about you   
JOHN: what about me?   
DAVE: you and your girl   
JOHN: i don’t have a girl...?   
DAVE: oh yeah i believe that   
DAVE: the only question is which beanpole with anger issues im referring to   
DAVE: you sure have a type egbert   
JOHN: and you don’t?   
JOHN: i mean, other than big sweaty men.   
DAVE: oh yeah of course   
DAVE: me and equius zahhak would go behind the bleachers after practice to fuck like twice a week   
JOHN: ew!   
DAVE: nepeta would watch us do it and that gave me nightmares   
JOHN: okay, fine, we can talk about girls. just... stop... talking.   
JOHN: i’m not planning on dating anyone anytime soon. happy?   
DAVE: why not   
JOHN: i dunno. school, life, stuff. trying to get into a good high school and all.   
JOHN: romance just fucks things up! if i went out with rose, and then we broke up for whatever reason, that’d affect not just us, but you and jade and like half the class.   
DAVE: ooh true   
DAVE: and vriska would probably slit your throat in your sleep   
JOHN: okay, she’s not as bad as people say.   
JOHN: she’s really nice, if you get to know her! kind of rough around the edges, but she’s had a hard life.   
DAVE: yeah me too   
DAVE: but in me it manifests in being hilarious and ultra cool   
DAVE: in her it manifests in pushing people down staircases   
JOHN: that is a rumor, and it’s bullshit. she wasn’t even at school that day.   
DAVE: whatever   
DAVE: its on you man   
DAVE: my bro used to tell me that i can play with swords but i gotta accept the possibility that i could cut my hand off   
JOHN: fine! i’ll accept responsibility for whatever happens.   
JOHN: and what about you and jade?   
DAVE: well thats the million caegar question isnt it   
DAVE: jade and me are jade and me   
DAVE: i dont know how to put that in any more detail   
JOHN: well, she’s never flashed you before.   
DAVE: no omg   
DAVE: thank god i dont know how i would react   
DAVE: crying probably   
JOHN: i doubt it’ll happen anytime soon.   
JOHN: i’ve never spoken to her about it before, but i feel like jade has a really similar outlook on the whole dating thing as i do!   
JOHN: friendship is really important to her. she wouldn’t jeopardize it for anything, not even a chance to mack on your gaunt, fleshless, creepy face.   
DAVE: yeah youre probably right   
DAVE: its no big deal   
DAVE: whats the rush?   
JOHN: exactly!   
JOHN: oh holy shit, did i tell you what happened when i went to piss on wednesday?   
DAVE: no what   
JOHN: okay, it’s actually a really weird story...   



	25. Fading

Your name is Jade Harley, and it hurts.

It’s not physical. Physically, you’re fine- a bit frazzled, pretty tired, but not much in the way of cuts or bruises. You’re experienced with this sort of forest exploration, you’ve got a good mind to avoid thick brush or smacking yourself in the face with low-hanging branches or whatever. The rain is making that harder, and you’re starting to get pretty wet, but it could be a lot worse.

No, this agony you’re feeling is purely mental. It’s like someone is punching holes in your soul, little tears that are widening and consuming you.

Or maybe, instead of someone, _someones_. Stephen Liche taught you that people were playing this awful game after all, that not everyone was going into it with good intentions like you. Slick and Simone taught you that this island was going to be the host to something massive and bloody beyond your control or sway. Eridan taught you that there were people who had no strategy, no reason except to hurt their classmates.

And then you met Gamzee. He taught you the plain and simple fact that there are entities who walk and talk like humans but most certainly are not. Entities of blood to whom concepts like mercy and compassion are as alien as their cruel disregard for human life is to you.

Last but certainly not least was Dave. Clever, sarcastic, quietly brilliant Dave. Loose, lanky, relaxed Dave. Uptight, neurotic, doting Dave. Your closest friend, a boy you loved like a brother.

He taught you that everyone kills. Everyone. The sight of Dave, his eyes slit and his body bloody as he readied his crimson blade to take a second life… it hurt. It hurt to see what he had fallen into.

You don’t think even he noticed he was doing it, but David Strider was _smiling_. He was ready and willing to kill Nepeta, to stick her on his sword and bleed her dry. Hell, he was glad to do it. The pinprick that Stephen left you with, the one that Gamzee widened into a massive gash, Dave guaranteed that it was a wound that would never close.

Maybe it isn’t even a someone who is responsible for this pain. Maybe it’s something. This game itself is the best player of all, hounding you all, swallowing your classmates one by one. You see it when you close your eyes: a vile monster, massive and shapeless but for rows of _teeth_ that _rend_ and _tear_ -

You shake your head, trying to get the image out of your mind. You’re so lonely without Dave. You hadn’t realized how much you appreciated his company, his jokes and his snide remarks and just the fact that he seemed so ready to fight, to protect you..

But then, wouldn’t protecting you entail killing your classmates? That sword is no toy, you saw that firsthand. How would you feel if Dave killed someone who was attacking you? What if it was Gamzee on the end of that blade instead of Equius, would you still be upset? Angry at Dave for saving your life?

You don’t know. You just don’t know. All you can say with certainty is that killing is wrong, and you refuse to indulge it. Dave had his reasons, you don’t doubt it, but how much longer before he killed someone because they got in his way? Killed someone because only one person can win? Killed someone because he liked the feeling, the ability to exert power over a hopeless situation?

You left Dave because you knew that, in time, one of you would have to kill the other. You’d rather die than kill Dave, but you don’t want to die. There was no choice but to leave him and hope that he’ll be okay.

The rain is coming down harder and harder. What was a drizzle became a shower and is now just plain old rain, and soon enough it’ll be a deluge that’ll limit your vision to nothing. It’s getting dark, too- you need to find shelter before you’re lost and blinded in the woods.

Your map says there’s some kind of storage facility nearby. This island exported tropical fish, judging from its climate and approximate location, and those would need very careful and spacious storage to get the fish to the mainland in good condition. A roof’s a roof, though, so you should figure out which direction is east and start heading that-

A twig snaps. Twelve meters behind you. Mud hid the sound of the steps, and the distance is too great to ascertain what sort of person snapped the twig. You slow your walk down slightly, letting them close the gap.

Ten meters. Eight. Seven. Six. Four.

You whip around, pointing your rifle at the direction they’re coming from. “I know you’re there,” you say sharply. “Come out with your hands up and I won’t shoot.”

A tall figure, draped in scarlet, emerges from the trees with his hands up. “Even in the rain? Damn, Harley, but you are good.”

“Dave?” You don’t lower the gun. “Why were you sneaking up on me?”

“I wasn’t sneaking,” he says sheepishly. “Just walking, and you were too far ahead. The parts of my brain that are still working tell me charging at full speed at the crack shot with preternatural hearing is not one of my better plans, so I figured I’d just wait for you to notice me.”

“Okay. Why are you tailing me?”

In the poor light, with his cracked shades and unreadable mouth, you can’t get much out of Dave’s face. He’s always been good at the stoic game, but you’ve never seen him so expressionless. There’s usually a trace of his mood visible, a smirk or frown or wrinkled nose, but he’s as blank as white paper.

“Because you high-tailed it away from me the last time I saw you like your ass was on fire,” he replies. “Saved my life and left me feeling pretty shitty about myself. Wasn’t cool. Well, saving my life was pretty cool, but you get my drift. I wanted to talk a bit more before we parted for the rest of our lives.”  

“Is that a threat?” You ask, squinting.

“Jade, not only would I never hurt you, I can’t. You’ve got a rifle as big as my leg trained on me, I’m not in any position to do much but kiss your ass.” Dave sighs. “But neither of us have long to live, eh? Barring one of us winning, this game can’t go much longer than a day or two more.”

“Don’t say that,” you say, biting your lip. “Don’t say that, Dave, because I know what the next step is from that.”

“What’s the next step?”

“We might as well try to live through this,” you say shakily. “We might as well play this game.”

Dave shrugs. “Well… yeah. Seems pretty clear-cut to me. I’ve got way too much shitty music in my back catalogue that I need to listen to before I die.”

“No jokes,” you say sternly. “You killed someone earlier today, Dave, how the fuck can you be kidding around?”

“…Because it hurts really bad,” he says finally. “Hurts in a shiny new way that I can’t understand or explain, just that I really would like for it to stop. I can feel myself… slipping. Fading away, becoming a thing that I wasn’t before. If I act like it’s no big deal, like everything’s gonna be great and we’re all gonna get new cars and blowjobs, maybe I can hold on long enough.”

“For what?”

“To protect you. Just for a bit longer, right?” Dave’s face doesn’t move. “I put some thought into it, Jade, and man, I can’t think of someone more deserving to leave this island than you. No offense to John or Rose or Terezi or Karkat or nothing, but yeah.”

“I…” You feel tears well up in your eyes, but you shake them out of your head. How can he say something like that to you? Doesn’t he know how much it hurts to hear that from his lips? “I don’t… _I don't want your protection!_ ”

Dave doesn’t budge, and that pisses you off. Always so stoic, always so unflappable. He’s telling you he’s going to kill and die for you, can’t he at least show a goddamn fucking emotion when he does it? “I don’t want or need your help, Dave,” you say angrily. “What good can you do me? You can’t shoot, you’ve lost a lot of blood. That sword of yours can’t handle much more stress. All you’ll do near me is hasten it.”

“You’re fading too,” he says quietly.

“Damn right I am! It’s horrible, Dave, I hate it hate it _hate it_ and I just want to make it stop and if dying is how it’ll stop then dying’s what I’ll do.” You started crying at some point during that sentence, and the tears run hot down your face. “I don’t want to live like some kind of empty vessel pretending to be Jade, I want to be _me_ , I want to go home and not see anyone die and not hurt anyone, but I know I can’t, far too fucking late, I don’t have any other choice but to die here-”

Dave starts walking towards you, but you haven’t dropped your gun. “Stay back,” you sniff. “Don’t try to console me, don’t try anything. I won’t forget, I can’t forget, not even for a moment.”

“Jade… let me help you,” says Dave.

“I don’t want help! I want the opposite. So unless you’re going to kill me, stay back.”

“He won’t do it, but I can oblige,” says a hard voice behind you. You whip around to find Spencer Slick and his gang before you.

You levy your rifle on them and Dave has a bead with his pistol, but the fight is a mismatch. Boxcars, huge and horrible, has a shotgun that could easily gun you down at this range, and the cold-eyed Droog has a semi-auto that’ll spray you both down. Both Slick and the unsettlingly childish Deuce seems entirely unarmed.

The four of them begin to encircle you until they’ve formed a square around you. With a mean little smile, Slick reaches into his vest and pulls out a small, horrid knife. You feel Dave at your back, his pistol up and away. You don’t say anything.

“Spencer,” says Dave, a cocky sort of threat entering his voice. “Didn’t hear you coming up.”

“Course you couldn’t, past that dame’s wailing,” sneers Slick. “Calm the hell down, Harley, jeez. No one likes a whiner. Hell, it’s Strider who should be complainin’. You look like a shit slow roasted in hell.”

“I got enough left inside me to shove my foot so far up your stubby ass you’ll taste my size elevens against your teeth,” growls Dave. “Fuck off and die, Slick. I’m not in the mood.”

“It’s not as convincing a ruse as you think, David,” says Droog calmly. “It’s coming off as a rather poor imitation of Slick.”

“Great, another cockbag calling me by my full name. What’s the story between you guys, you barely look uglier than usual.”

“We’ve been laying low all day!” says Cole happily. “In a neat little cabin in town. Let you guys waste your blood and weapons, then come out when you’re all exhausted and thin the herd! It was my plan, and it worked. You look like a strong breeze could knock you over, Dave. Jade, is it okay if we kill you? You were saying you wanted to…”

“Ain’t a way to talk to a girl,” sniffs Boxcars. “Some respect, Deuce. Crybaby she might be, but she’s still a lady.”

“Oh, sorry! What should I say?”

“Stop kidding around,” you breathe. “Don’t the four of you understand? Only one of you can win. You should be killing each other-”

“We will,” interrupts Droog. “When the moment is right.”

“See, we’re all pretty good friends,” says Slick with a grunt. “And I personally think the rest of this class is wannabes, whitehats, coupla sleazeballs, goody-goodies, a psycho or two. Not a big loss one way or the other. So here’s my plan- we let all y’all die, then me and the boys go our separate ways for an hour. Then we have our own little game, and the winner goes back to his folks.”

“Maybe not let them die, Slick,” says Boxcars, gesturing up with shotgun. “Take a bit more fuckin’ agency, yeah?”

"Oh hell yeah. Got all this heat, may as well use it.” Slick shrugs. “Whadya think, kids? Let’s stretch our legs some.”

Dave raises an eyebrow. “You want to… chase us? Are you a dog? Will you stare at us stupidly if you catch us?”

“We’ll probably shoot you!” Says Deuce cheerfully. “The rest is right, though. It’s no fun to just open fire, for you or for us.”

“That and we’d take some of you down with us,” you say slowly. This is… well, the best case scenario for the worst case scenario, you guess. Dave is very quick and there’s no prey more difficult than a seasoned hunter like you. Slick’s party is too big, and they can’t move as fast as you- Deuce has got stubby legs and baby fat while Boxcars has way too much upper body mass to move particularly quickly. None of them can see in the rain as well as you, you don’t think.

And you and Dave do make a good team. Evade them? That’s doable.

You won’t die, not yet. You have some business to take care of first. You need to find John and Rose, Karkat and Tavros. And then Dave… you gotta protect him. The dumbass will get himself killed about thirty seconds after you’re gone.

“So do we get a head start?” You ask.

Dave scoffs. “We seriously playing this, Harley? We gonna re-enact the Most Dangerous Game with Slick and his fuckbuddies?”

“What choice do we have?” You swallow hard. Focus, Jade. Focus, relax, fight. Win. “Come on, Dave. You wanted to team up again, I’m offering you that.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess you are.” He smiles a little. “So do we get a headstart?”

“Thirty seconds,” growls Slick.

“You mean twenty seconds,” you say.

Droog raises an eyebrow. “…You were the ones in the bushes.”

Slick looks at his lieutenant. “Bushes? Wha?”

“When we had our encounter with Simone. There was a small rustling in the bushes, but I felt like the situation warranted our undivided attention. I didn’t think it was a person- the noise was so little that I expected an animal of some sort.”

“They ain’t animals,” laughs Boxcars. “We’re huntin’ ‘em like they are, though.”

“Fine, Harley, you get thirty seconds for real.” Slick spits on the ground and glares at the two of you. His eyes are dark and hateful, like an insect. “Twenty nine. Twenty eight.”

You and Dave drop your bags simultaneously and sprint away. Dave’s usually a lot quicker than you, and having over half a foot of leg on you doesn’t hurt, but he’s injured and tired. You manage to keep pace, and even pull ahead a couple steps.

The rain is beating down harder and harder, like a fist. The raindrops start to fog up your glasses, so you block your face with your hand. Your rifle bounces heavily off your back, and when the butt drives into your side, you hiss involuntarily.

A single shotgun blast splits the air and sends a shock down your body. The message is clear- _we’re coming for you_.

You can’t hear the footsteps behind you, but you know they’re there. A good hunter can sense life and motion without seeing it, and you can feel the hot fury of a group of predators behind you. Your cave-dwelling ancestor used this skill to evade wolves long enough to keep themselves in the gene pool.

Wolves can’t shoot, though. Spray and pray rounds from Droog’s grease gun whiz by, not coming very close to hitting you but lighting a fire under your ass all the same. Dave speeds up too. He’s panting- he’s already been chased today, not to mention his deathmatch. Those things are pretty draining.

“Dave,” you shout over the rain, “Follow me!”

“Into hell,” Dave answers, then smirks at his own cleverness. In spite of yourself, you crack a tiny smile back. How did he do that without any hesitation whatsoever?

You veer right and Dave follows. An indefinite chase won’t solve anything. You’ll likely get separated from Dave after a while and then one of you will be overrun. You’ve got a lot of skills, but stamina is not one of them. Dave and most of the boys in class are on the soccer team, they have that to spare. Slick and his friends were too much of delinquents to join any team, but you know they spent their days slumming it in town, chasing down people they didn’t like and running from the police. They’re smart, savvy guys with athleticism and teamwork in abundance. The only way to beat them is to force them to play your game.

That warehouse you were seeking cover in earlier will be where you make your stand. Slick’s gang might have twice your number, but they only have two guns like you guys- and your weapons are better suited to ranged fighting. With some cover, you think you and Dave can fight them off.

You smile. This is doable. You aren’t an arrogant person or anything, but you’re good at what you do. Nobody beats Jade Harley at her own game. Everything is going to be alri-

There’s a sensation in your side. Hard to describe. Like solid fire has soaked into you and is ravaging the affected area.

It hurts, in other words. Hurts terribly, hurts like _teeth_ and _steel_ , and oh god you’ve been shot.

“Dave,” you say weakly, grabbing your side. Your sweater was damp, but blood is quickly changing it to soaked.

“Almost there,” he says, not aware what’s going on.

“I’ve been shot, Dave.”

“What?”

“Shot. I’ve been sh-shot.” You stumble as the reality of what’s happened soaks in. Your legs turn to jelly, incapable of supporting your weight, and you feel yourself start to fall-

But Dave catches you, holding you up in spite of the fact that he barely outweighs you. “Fall and you die,” he says in your ear. “And then I’ll die because I’ll be so busy trying to get you to not fall. Rude as fuck to get me killed, Harley. We’re almost there.”

Dave slings your arm over his shoulder and thunders down to the warehouse, the encroaching black shape. The door is on the other side if this is the back, you realize.

You and Dave skirt along the side of the warehouse as blood squirts between your fingers and down your leg. You manage to get to the other side as the acid-pain starts to become unbearable.

Dave is supporting your weight now, grunting in effort as he basically carries you inside and props you up against the door. “Shit,” he says, stumbling back and panting. “Shit shit shit.”

“You’re a modern urban poet,” you say weakly and giggle. “You should write books.”

“Shut up, _Rose_ ,” says Dave. “Oh fuck that’s a lot of blood.”

You look down. “Uh… god.” You shut your eyes for a moment. “I forget the name. It extends from the aorta. Big… big artery, I think he nicked it.” You put your slippery fingers to your back. “Passed through, that’s good… maybe not, actually. It’s gonna bleed more that way…” You throw your head back. “Oh god Dave, I’m dead, I’m going to bleed out, oh fuck…”

“Don’t say that,” says Dave, shaking his head. He crawls over to you and unsheathes his katana, then wetly removes his sweater. “You’re gonna be fine. Better than fine. You’re going to have an awesome scar and now even more dudes will be lining up to get a piece of you.”

You smile weakly. Dave starts slicing his vest into strips and, once he has a few of them, looks at you. “Can you… lift your shirt?”

You raise your bloody clothes up so Dave can put on his makeshift dressings. You see his eyes peek out from behind the shades- frantic, terrified, bloodshot eyes. He’s so scared. You’ve never seen Dave- you’ve never seen _anyone_ \- so frightened.

“I’m sorry Jade,” he murmurs as he works. “I’m so fucking sorry, this is all my fault.”

“How is it your fault?”

“I failed you. I had one job- _one fucking job_ \- to keep you safe, and now most of you is spilling out on the floor. I was gonna keep you safe, I was gonna let you go home and save the world so I’d do something useful with my worthless shitty go-nowhere life and-”

You slap him, maybe a little harder than you meant to. Dave looks up at you, clutching his cheek, confusion flashing over his face.

That’s quite enough of that.

“I am not your responsibility,” you say to him coldly. “I’m your friend, not your charge. I’m not a goddamn princess in an ivory tower, I’m a human being! Did you ever ask me if I wanted to be protected?”

“I’m not…” Dave swallows. “I’m doing it for me too.”

“So what’s this, then? Assisted suicide? You think your life is worthless and mine isn’t?” You love Dave, you do, but you’re bleeding out on the floor of an abandoned warehouse somewhere in the Pacific Ocean and you are having a lot of trouble caring about his baggage at a time like this. “You’re Dave. You’re funny and smart and strong-willed and kind and helpful and you try harder than absolutely anyone. You’re my best friend, and if you imply you’re worthless again, I will break your nose and we can bleed out together.” You fall back against the wall with finality. “Now can you please get those bandages on so we can get off this island already?”

Dave stares at you for a moment. “…Yeah. You’re the boss, Jade,” he says, and busies himself once more with the bandages.

You sit back and breathe steadily, letting him work. The makeshift bandage keeps your blood in but does nothing for the pain. “I need disinfectant,” you say, squeezing your eyes shut. “Painkillers, too. Clean bandages. It’s going to be a real burden, Dave. I won’t blame you if you want to-”

“Never.” Dave stands up and peeks outside. “We should be safe here for a little while. In twenty or thirty minutes or so, we’ll go find our bags and get you patched up proper. Then we find beds- real beds, with mattresses, and you’re going to sleep this off.”

You loll your head, imagining the bliss of an actual bed with sheets and a pillow. The adrenaline from being shot is starting to fade, and you’re so tired. You want to curl up on the floor and rest for a few weeks, but you can’t. You need to stay awake and alert.

“The blood trail,” you say tiredly. “They can follow it…”

“I don’t see the-” Dave ducks inside. “Shit. There they are.” He positions himself next to you, pulling out his gun and clutching it tightly. “ _Fuck me in the ass with a cattle prod, I think they saw me,_ ” he whispers.

“ _Think they saw you or know they saw you?_ ” You glance around for your rifle, which is lying on the ground. You ponderously lift it. “ _Because think is one thing, and know is another._ ”

“ _Don’t worry, that garage door’s the only entrance,_ ” whispers Dave, levying his pistol at it.

“ _And the walls?_ ” You look at the metal shutters. “ _Look at how thin they are. They can’t stop bullets._ ”

“ _But they don’t know where we are on the wall, so they won’t waste their ammo._ ” Dave cocks a small smile. “ _Relax. We’ve got the edge if guns are all they’ve got_.”

There’s a thunk against the wall, a little bit ahead of Dave.

“ _What was that?_ ” Dave asks.

“ _I don’t know._ ” You pause. “ _What was Cole’s weapon aga-_ ”

The world becomes an inferno of screeching metal and hot pain. Dave shouts and is buffeted back by the force, and you’re thrown to your side. You land on your bullet wound and screech in pain as astonishing agony pours through and out of you, drowning all thoughts and emotions except for _hurt_.

The world blackens and then returns in poor focus. Everything slowly repairs itself, but the pain has been replaced with a curious numbness. You struggle to sit up and nearly pass out again from a sudden rush of blood. It squirts through your bandages and fingers to the floor. You look around.

Dave is sitting not too far from you, clutching something red and mangled. You squint and realize that it’s his right arm. Chunks of black shrapnel glisten from it and blood rains down from it. The tortured flesh falls off in strips, revealing the bone to you. His arm is a worthless piece of meat now, and even in your confused state, you know Dave will never use it again.

“Dave…” You look at him, ignoring the pounding in your ears. “Your arm, Dave…”

“S’alright,” he grunts. “Terezi did worse to me, like, daily. Oh fuck, this really hurts…”

He slowly rises to his feet. “You’ve got a hole in your belly, I’m the one-armed man,” Dave says with a small laugh. Somehow, his shattered glasses are still behind his ears. “We’d be so gross, Jade, can you imagine?”

“Where are they?” You say quietly, looking behind you. “That was a… grenade. They should be rushing us right now.”

“Doubt we have long, then,” Dave says. His left arm goes to the scabbarded katana on his back and slowly draws it. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. I’ve got a plan. You stay there Jade, alright? I’ll protect you.”

Dave walks forward, past the hole in the wall the grenade made. “Yo Slick,” he shouts. “We aren’t on the door! I got something to say to you, you have my word that you can walk through this door without getting blasted!”

Slowly, Slick and his gang emerge through the large door. Sure enough, in Deuce’s hand is a fragmentation grenade that he’s shuffling between his fingers. You had completely forgotten about it in all of this.

“Fuck, Strider, you didn’t tell me your arm was a horror show,” says Slick. The Crew fan out so that none of them are standing close enough together to take the same bullet. Smart.

“I contend with your face, call us even.” Dave points his katana at Spencer. “I got a proposition.”

“Let’s hear it.” Slick nods, and both Boxcars and Droog raise their weapons and point them at Dave.

“A duel,” says Dave. “You and me, one on one, no outside help. If you win, we’ll surrender in peace and you can kill us with no hassle.”

“And if you win?” Asks Droog.

“Hush, I’m in charge.” Slick clears his throat. “And if you win?”

“Your boys shoot me, but you let Jade here go,” Dave nods. “You dress her wound, give her a bag, and let her get back on her feet.”

“What?!” You look at Dave disbelievingly, ignoring the burning sensation that accompanies your shout. “Dave, that’s absurd, you die either way-”

“That’s heroic,” sniffs Boxcars, wiping his eyes. “Sacrificing hisself for his lady. You could take a lesson, Slick.”

“Eat my bloated asshole,” Slick spits, but he stares at Dave contemplatively. “The fuck’s  up between you two, anyways? You’re not fucking, I don’t think.”

“No,” says Dave from behind his badly damaged shades. “But I love her. I don’t want to die, but if I had to, I’d do it protecting her. She’s important. I’m not.”

You just stare at Dave, wishing you could hit him and hug him and keep him safe. Nothing you said registers to this macho asshole.

“That’s really sweet,” says Cole. “You’re a good guy, Strider! You should do it, boss.”

“It’s sporting,” says Droog slowly, “but foolish. I guess it depends on if you want to match his masculine pride or not, Slick.”

“Mmm. Hey, Droog, what was that thing Snowman always said about the way I fight?” Slick reaches into his jacket and pulls out his switchblade, lowering the blade to his waist.

“You fight like a…” Droog closes his eyes. “Ah. I see.”

“I fight like a woman.” Slick shows his teeth at Dave. “Macho is bullshit, Strider. I prefer to win. Thanks but no thanks. Boxcars?”

“Yeah.” Boxcars raises his shotgun and shoots.

Dave hits the ground like a sack of bricks. A new hole blossoms from him, a red hole in his belly, a tear in him large enough to fit a fist inside. His sword clatters away towards you and Dave shrinks into a ball, desperately trying to keep his guts inside with his one good hand. You see intestines spill out of the hole regardless.

He falls to his side and starts groaning, his legs twitching. Dave’s shades clatter off his face and show his eyes, wide and crimson, more surprised than anything. He looks at you and moves his lips, but no noise comes out.

Everything gets sort of fuzzy.

A high-pitched whine rings in your ears and you lose your body. You feel like you’re floating, like your soul is pouring from you like a tap. Slick is walking over to you. He’s holding his knife.

“Yo Harley,” he says like he’s half a solar system away. “You don’t look so good.”

You stare at the floor. What’s happening to you? It’s so… odd.

“I gotta give the two of you props, this was a merry fucking chase. ‘Specially considering you had a gun to him ‘fore we came along… but you weren’t going to shoot, were ya? The two of you are good kids. Strider’s a bit of a prick, but he don’t deserve that. I ain’t got a beef with either a’ you.”

You hear Slick kneel down next to you. “But I gotta kill you two,” he says lowly. “Cuz I wanna go home, and barring that, I want it to be one of my boys. What I want ain’t factoring in- this is what has to be, yeah? Hope that makes sense.”

You don’t look up. Why is he talking to you? Why does he feel the need to justify himself?

It’s because he’s weak. Weak enough that he needs forgiveness from the people he kills. And you’re even weaker- weak enough to get killed by him.

Weak got Stephen and Isabel and Equius killed. Weak got Dave shot. Weak is what landed you here. You’re sick of it. You won’t be weak anymore.

You understand.

“Harley, look at me.” Slick grabs your chin and pulls your head up to face him. “I wanna see your ey-”

Slick stops mid-word as the two of you make eye contact. You see something flash over his dark eyes- fear. He sees the face of someone who understands and is repelled by it. Weak weak weak.

He’s not worth your time. You’ll only have one shot here. You know who you want.

Your fist balls and swings up, connecting with Slick’s temple. He sprawls back in shock, and before he can correct himself, you’re on your feet.

You move forward as quickly as you’ve ever moved. The world slows- a collection of moving parts, a well-oiled machine taken apart so you can see how it functions. Deuce’s weapon is useless here, and he’s just watching wondrously. Droog is raising his gun, but he can’t hit you in time. Boxcars is moving his gun up too, but his gun is too long to get into position quickly. Not for an amateur like him, anyways.

Boxcars is the one who hurt Dave. You’ll hurt him right back.

The katana is on the floor, just waiting to be seized. Without breaking stride, you duck low and grasp it. The leather is wet between your bloody fingers.

Oh right. You were shot. Weird, it doesn’t hurt at all. You charge forward with swift silence, sword affixed in front of you.

Boxcars manages to take aim as Droog lets out some shots at you that go wide. Boxcars’ finger moves to pull the trigger, but you dart to the side, and his thunderous shot blasts where you were just standing.

His eyes widen in surprise and, yes, sweet fear. You’re so close, each inch passes deliberately. Half a foot. Four inches. Two.

Contact.

Big and thick as he is, Boxcars’ body can’t stop or even slow the blade. The steel penetrates him like he was styrofoam, sliding through him artfully and blossoming out of his back. You keep going, your strong legs pushing and pushing until the sword comes to it’s end, and your body is pressed against Boxcars’ enormous one.

He gasps in surprise as you stick him like the animal he is on the graceful, unyielding steel. His weight comes down towards you, but somehow, you manage to support the big brute.

He’s still alive. Still breathing, still conscious, still lucid. He feels what you’re doing to him, and it hurts.

“You need to hurt more,” you declare in a low whisper. Your eyes find your target- a fleshy pale one. His fat, disgusting neck is in your reach… but your hands are occupied.

So you do what comes naturally.

Your teeth extend for his bulging Adam’s Apple and clamp down. It’s… soft. The give is astounding, just as easy as the sword. You bite down, hearing Boxcars moan in pain.

You release the sword and pull your head back as hard as you can.

There’s a fantastic tearing noise.

Crimson fountains out as arteries and veins are destroyed by your teeth.  Boxcars hacks and stumbles back, his neck unrecognizable, his heavy carcass slumping back as blood spews from his mouth and throat alike. He looks at you, and the fear is still there, but it’s being drowned in pain.

He’s going to die in agony. As it should be.

You look up at the rest of them. Droog and Slick and Deuce are all staring at you dumbly, unable to process what just happened. You try to talk, but realize you can’t.

Ah. You have a mouthful of flesh. You crunch down and spit out the skin and tendon and viscera onto a glob on the floor and stare at the three boys.

“I’ll kill you,” you say. “I’ll kill you _all_.”

“What are you waiting for?” Asks Slick. “ _What are you waiting for?! SHOOT HER!_ ”

He pushes Droog aside and rips the gun from his grasp. You start moving, but Slick has the draw on you. He opens fire.

You know the shots are peppering you, but it doesn’t hurt. it. Pain feels like a distant memory. You stumble back and fall as bullet after bullet tears through you. The ease that the body gives cuts both ways, you guess. You fall, your head bouncing off the ground. Your glasses fall off somewhere.

You’re still alive, though, strangely enough. You look forward and, not too far from you at all, is Dave Strider. He’s not in very good focus, though.

He’s staring at you. “Holy shit,” he says in a voice as thin as paper. “Harley, that was awesome.”

You manage a small smile but say nothing. You move your cold hand towards Dave. He sees what you’re doing and replicates the gesture, his long left hand, the one he can still use, going for yours.

“I guess I got it backwards,” he says as he inches towards you. “You should have been protecting me.”

You chuckle in a raspy voice you barely recognize. Your hand finds his after what feels like a century. “I can’t move my fingers,” he says. “Can you?”

“Making me do all the work,” you say exhaustedly. “Thanks a lot Dave. You jerk.” One by one, your fingers wrap around his hand. Each is an enormous labor, more than the last.

Dave’s hand goes still. His eyes drift closed.

It’s only cold for a moment.

END OF CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

END OF ACT TWO


	26. Intermission Two

Increase volume and get to cutting out the feedback from the storm. I want every word out of Harley’s mouth in the last half hour to be clear as a bell. That girl is going to be on t-shirts. Right, long lingering shot on the corpses now. What are they doing? Are they holding- oh dear God, we’re all going to be rich.

Hmm? Ah, my call is here? Finally. Give me the phone, please.

Yes, hello dear. I told you to call me on my cell, not my work numb-

Oh! M-my lord, how good to hear from you! I must say I was- no, I should talk here. Let me get onto a more secure line.

…What? Sir, this is a landline and I’m almost positive they’re tapping it. Not to mention the agents among the soldiers… They know of our intentions, if we-

We… did you just say we’ve won?

Oh. Well. Bully, then. Is the Empress…

Alive? Excellent. She’s much more valuable as our puppet than she is a corpse. So long as she’s controlled, we’ve won.

I am certainly happy! But are you, my lord? My hair still had color when we began working towards this.  I’ve stood by you for decades, sir, but this is something new entirely. What is going to change?

Right, that’s true, appearances are important. Nothing will change, at least not visibly.  We can isolate and control the old witch, and with the line over, her natural death will make our pretender Empress. The last of the Imperial heirs, Feferi Peixes, is an aerated corpse. Now your Handmaid can take the throne.

… What? She’s  _dead_?

… I’m sorry sir, I needed a moment. She was a great find, I had such high hopes for her. Perhaps the third or fourth greatest player the Program ever produced. How did she die?

The Empress? That makes sense, I suppose… the woman’s old, but she’s quite spry. I’ve seen what she can do with that trident.

Now there’s a dilemma, my lord. We have no heir. You are too old, and it’d reek of a military coup. We need someone respectable… someone who the people will buy. A celebrity. And we must be able to control them entirely.

More Program Winners? With all due respect, sir, the last several winners aren’t worth a mention. Last game’s Roxy Lalonde is a clever girl, but a drunken fool who desperately clings to her morals. A useful, weepy wreck. And the one before her, the former Miss Majors? An unintelligent brute who despises us. We’d have more luck controlling a mangy alley cat.

I can go down the list if you like, sir. Three years ago, our winner has severe brain damage. Four, suicidally depressed. Five, currently incarcerated for larceny. Six, dead. Seven, dead. Eight-

This year’s winner? Well, there are certainly promising candidates… yes, yes there certainly are. Boys and girls. We’ve discussed the potential for a male heir before, haven’t we? It’d be the perfect way to herald the end of the line, but I don’t think anyone but the staunchest traditionalists will object. We were going to have them shot, anyways.

Yes, I do believe almost any of the eleven remaining could be our candidate. Well, not this one, I think he’s soft in the head.

No sir, I mean he comes off as possessing of some sort of mental disability. Or maybe he’s just weird like that. It’s rather difficult to explain without listening to him talk.

Yes, you’re right, this is difficult to conduct over phone. And I do need to get back to the game soon…

Ah, you’re right, we should continue this conversation as soon as we can in person. After the game, sir, we’ll discuss potential applications of our fresh new cand-

WHAT?!

Err, I mean, that sounds like a remarkably bad idea, with all due respect. The island is a barrel of volatiles, sir, it doesn’t need to be ignited.

…No, I am not contradicting a direct order. My apologies, sir. It won’t happen again. I will speak to you soon.

…

Thank you, Guard 41-C. Oh, could you do me a few favors after you put the phone back?

Firstly, I’d like for you to dispense of Guards 61-B, 10-Y, and, thank God, 19-E. We have no need to skate around those Imperial loyalist dogs anymore. The Age of the House of Peixes is now over.

The other thing I would like for you to do is to get a crew ready to prepare the harbor. I’ll announce it as a no-man’s-land at midnight, and at one, I want your team there. Dump the corpses of the Imperial spies in there and start prepping the site for the arrival of a battleship.

Our Lord is coming to the Island.

END OF INTERMISSION TWO


	27. Chapter Zero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this chapter forward, krasmataz no longer illustrates for the fic. She has been replaced by bananna_h.

42ND SESSION

5 HOURS INTO THE GAME

24 STUDENTS REMAINING

Your name is Penny Majors. But you prefer to go by your initials.

It’s been five hours since this game began. Five hours since you were confronted by the stark, insurmountable horror of having to kill every one of your friends and acquaintances just to cling to life.

You aren’t a strong person. You aren’t brave or clever or really anyone extraordinary at all. A regular high schooler, you guess, and that means you don’t have a sliver of a chance to win. This game favors boys, after all, and it’d take an exceptional girl to win it. Girls like your friend Wendolyn Quentin, who is gorgeous and intelligent and always three steps ahead. Compared to her… you’re not really anything. Just a warm body who’ll be cold soon enough.

And, scary as that is, you’re still standing. One thing you do have is stubbornness, and if you’re about to die, you aren’t going to go all fetal and wait for it to happen. You’ll keep on your feet until whatever happens happens.

Oh, can’t forget about your friends either. You care about them, after all, and it wouldn’t be much good of you to let them die. Dad always said that it was your duty to have something to protect, to keep safe no matter what.

For you, there are a few choices for your object. There’s WQ, who you already mentioned, the most beautiful and wonderful girl you know. She’s only three months your senior, but she’s like the big sister you never had and you really have no end of nice things to say about her. There’s Alex Rustom, the stiffest and most pedantic jerk you’ve ever met with a heart so big you don’t know how he keeps it in his chest. AR’s double tough when he thinks he has to be, but a giant puppydog when he thinks he can get away with it.

They’re two of your closest friends. But the boy to your right is in a league of his own. William Valfrid. The one who’s going to save you all.

After a few hours of confused wandering on your own, you were fortunate enough to link up with WV a half hour ago. Better than that, he’s informed you that he’s already found AR and WQ this soon in the game. Not only that, Wendolyn brought her boyfriend with her, the physically imposing but soft-spoken and gentle Woden Kent. He prefers to be called WK, though- all of you usually go by your initials.

As soon as you get back to camp, you’ll be part of a five-person party. A sixth of the class. No one will be able to challenge that.

You can’t look away from Will. He’s a solidly built young man, a little awkward, but handsome in a worn sort of way. He’s like an old shirt you’ve owned since forever, the colors a bit faded but better for it. Under his eyes are thick grey bags, because he doesn’t sleep- he spends his nights lying awake, wishing and wondering how he can make the world a better place. He has a natural magnetism like no one you’ve ever met- this simple, unassuming boy can speak with such spirit and conviction that you feel like everything he’s saying is a simple truth, and all the world needs to realize that is to hear him talk.

Hell, he doesn’t even need to talk. His tired little smile, it does funny stuff to your guts. His unassuming, slouched posture makes him appear like some sort of precious cargo, something to shield from bullets, to take a sword or a spear for.

William Valfrid, or WV as he prefers to be called, is your best friend. You’ll be damned if you can’t protect him.

“…PM?” Asks WV, a small and gentle smile on his face.

“Hmm?”

“Are you alright? You’re staring at me unblinkingly. It’s a little worrisome.”

“Oh! Oh.” You shake your head. “Fine. I’m just worried about getting coal dust in my hair.”

The air around here is permeated with the smell of industrial excess. This Program takes place in a boom town which was abandoned entirely when the mine dried up. The buildings, the mineshafts and the shanties, they’ve been repurposed into this nightmare. While they haven’t been used to produce coal in decades, the smell of depleted earth is still here. You doubt it’ll ever disappear.

This whole place smells like decay. It’s scaring you.

WV picks up on that. You didn’t think you could hide it from him. “Are you afraid, PM?”

“…Yeah,” you admit. “I don’t think I’m going to be alive for very much longer, and it’s… it’s pretty scary.”

“I’m scared too,” says WV, and even though there is no fear on his face, you believe him. “But it’s fine. It’s your reminder that you’re alive, and that you want to remain alive. So don’t worry. It’s a good thing.”

“Mmm.” You decide you’d like a subject change. “So I never asked, why did you leave your friends’ camp? And how come they didn’t come with you?”

“I wanted to find… something.” WV purses his lips and blinks, and he suddenly seems so very weary. “A pen and stationery, actually. I decided to search for it in the shanties where the workers used to live, and I found it.”

“Why a pen and paper?”

“Not paper. Stationery. Like for a letter. We don’t write enough letters anymore.”  The glowing smile on WV’s face has melted away entirely. His eyes are tired and grey. “It’s for my little sister Serenity. I want her to know what happened to me and the people around me, since…”

“Since we’re all about to die,” you finish.

“We’re all about to go through a difficult time,” WV says in half-agreement. “And I’m worried that I might not be one of the ones going home. Or if I do, it won’t be the same person as the one who left in the first place. I want to preserve the person I am now, even if it’s just in a sheet of paper. I think that is understandable.”

“I don’t think I’ll be leaving either,” you say, your eyes going to the dark dirt. “Maybe I could have one of your sheets of paper? I don’t think I’ll have anything important to say, though… I’m not as good with words as you are.”

WV stops suddenly, and when you look in his large eyes again, they’re ablaze with passion. “You’re priceless, PM,” he says. “Okay, well, that doesn’t make a lot of sense because your first name is Penny. You’re wonderful, how about that. One of the best people I know, and I have nothing but high expectations from you. Don’t try to pretend you’re anything but stupendous to my face.”

You feel your cheeks and nose warm. That’s the downside of WV’s honesty- he’s incredibly, adorably blunt. You know his praise isn’t histrionics or over-the-top. It’s just him expressing his honest-to-God opinion, and it’s a little disconcerting.

You shift your weight from right hip to left hip, trying to find words to say. Not easy. “So… you think I’ll go home?” you ask.

“I know I’ll be doing everything in my power to do so,” he answers. “You’re worth that much, I think. Don’t worry, PM. I’ve got your back so long as you’ve got mine.”

“I do! I do. Your back is gotten.” You giggle a little bit. Yeah. Maybe things will be okay. “How much farther is it?”

“We’re really close, I think. We settled in what looked like a campground, it’s up ahead.”

The two of you surmount the hill and enter a small clearing. “Hey guys!” Says WV cheerily. “We’re ba-”

He stops when he sees what you see.

There are three people on the ground. AR is slumped against a rock, three dark red holes pockmarking his chest, his eyes blank and his mouth slack. His black uniform shirt is soaked against his body with blood. In his lap is a submachine gun, one of his hands still gripping the handle.

Not too far from his corpse is WQ, splayed out like she was asleep. A long vertical slash bisects her chest, tearing through her uniform and transforming her chest into a crimson mess. A quarterstaff, broken in half, lies on either side of her unmoving body.

On the far side is WK, his feet facing you. It takes you a moment to figure out what happened to him as you realize what that white round object next to his body is.

It’s his head.

“Wh…” WV’s mouth opens and closes like a fish. “This… how…”

“I knew there were more,” says a hoarse voice. You whip towards it, and sitting on one of the rocks near WK is a fourth person. A boy, clad in black, with blood spattering his long dark locks of hair. He kicks his legs lazily as his fingers drum off the obsidian sword in his hand. _Du-dum du-dum du-dum._

“Jack,” you say shakily.

Jack Noir isn’t someone you know much about. A member of your class, yes, but quiet and withdrawn, without any friends and a perpetually nasty look on his face. He never spoke to you and you to him, but you occasionally caught him staring at you when he thought you weren’t looking. You dismissed him as a strange, unpleasant, ultimately forgettable person.

But the gore that he’s drenched in suggests otherwise. “I found footprints leading away. Didn’t look like any of theirs.” He gestures vaguely at the corpses of WV’s- of your friends. They’re. They’re all dead. “I thought they were yours, Will, but it looks like you picked up Penny on the way.”

Jack hops down, landing deftly on his feet. He studies you briefly. “No, I don’t think just yet,” he says calmly. “But soon.”

“W-what?” You see Will drop his bag and dig through it, pulling out his javelin. Your eyes dart back to the nightmarish form of Jack. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he answers. “Will. I’m going to kill you now.”

With speed you didn’t think anyone could possess, he begins to close on WV, who’s positioned himself in front of you. From twenty to fifteen to eight to four to-

His sword comes up in a beautiful arc for WV’s head, but there’s a clang of metal meeting metal. Jack’s eyes widen as WV brings up his javelin to meet him.

With a finesse you didn’t expect WV to possess, he flourishes the spear and counterattacks, but Jack casually beats it away. “Penny!” WV roars, his eyes desperate.

“R-right!” You dig through your bag and take out your own weapon- a sword with a white sheath and handle. You pull it free and swing for Jack too.

He moves out of the way again with such ease it was like you attacked him in slow motion. Oh no, oh no he dodged. You can’t move in time. You shut your eyes, preparing for his sword to find your body.

But it doesn’t. Instead, you feel a rush of air as Noir maneuvers around you. You turn just in time to see him drive his sword through your friend’s arm.

“Agh!” WV shouts, traipsing back a few steps. “Fuck!” The cut is deep- you can see a flash of white bone surrounded by black-red flesh.

“No!” You throw yourself forward at Jack, but instead of side-stepping, he reaches back and grabs you. He twists, and you feel yourself leave the ground. You go up, up, and then crash back down to Earth on your back.

Standing over you is Jack. “No, please,” you gasp, lights popping in front of your eyes. “Please don’t.”

Jack stares at you for a moment before taking a step back. “Go away,” he says emotionlessly. “I’ll kill you two later.”

You scramble to your feet and towards WV, who is holding his arm and grimacing. “Five seconds,” says Jack behind you. “Four. Three.”

Without a word, you and WV run away in the direction you came. You sob in terror as you run. He’s going to get you, he’s going to chase you and find you and kill you.

And you can’t do anything about it.

42ND SESSION

25 HOURS INTO THE GAME

11 STUDENTS REMAINING

Your name is Penny Majors, and there is blood everywhere.

WV is unmoving on the ground, holding his chest with his one good arm. Slowly rising next to him is Tito Cans, the largest and scariest boy in the class. Well, the largest anyways. You think you’ve met someone scarier.

He attacked the two of you in a blind fury. He had been injured, and like a wild animal had gone berserk from the wound and attacked you both. He was hurt, but so was WV, and he weighs as much as the two of you put together.

It was brutal. He threw the two of you around like rag dolls, and his open palm had ripped your face open. Your nose is bleeding and you can’t get it to stop. It’s running down to your neck and into your shirt.

WV tried to get his arms around Cans’ neck and take him down, and he did manage to spear his javelin through Cans’ chest, but Tito simply fell back and crushed your friend, your only remaining friend, under his massive body. WV didn’t move much after that.

This is it. WV is out and you’re useless. You’re dead for sure once Cans gets back up.

But something happens when he does rise. He takes two steps towards you, then immediately falls back down. It’s only now you see how deep the cut someone (you know who) gave him, and how much blood he’s lost from it and the wounds you and WV managed to inflict. He’s lost so much blood, it’s finally taking its toll.

Blood fountains from the spear wound, and slowly, you watch the life leave Cans’ body. He lies still.

You slowly make it to your feet, and your legs feel like they might crumble beneath you. But at least you can stand, which is more than you can say for WV. He’s only just starting moving again, and his movements are just small convulsions. You run over to him and grab his hand. “WV! Are you… are you alright?”

“No,” he says weakly. His eyes are scrunched tight. “No, I don’t think I am.”

“Just rest,” you say frantically. “You’ll be fine. Better than fine.”

“Maybe in a few months,” he answers. “Right now, though… I don’t think I’ll be getting up anytime soon, sorry. My ribs are fucked. And…” His eyes slowly open and he looks over at his right bicep. “I couldn’t even use my arm after Jack. I think I’m done here.”

“You’re not done,” you say. “We still- we still have to go home.”

“No. You have to go home. I get to see the others again, lucky me.” He smiles. His left hand leaves his ribs and starts grasping at the air. “I’m dead, PM. The only thing that matters now is how I die.”

“No. No, no, that’s not true.”

“Three possibilities. One, I lie here until Jack or someone else finds me and finishes it.” WV blinks and shakes his head. “I don’t want that, obviously. Two, I lie here until this place becomes a no man’s land and my head pops like a pimple. Also no good.”

“I can… I can get you out of here,” you plead. “I’ll take you someplace safe. It’ll be fine.”

“It won’t, PM. That’ll get us both killed. I can’t slow you down like that, I’d rather die.” Your last friend in the world grabs your sword hand. “Which brings me to possibility three.”

You feel tears run down your face. “Stick your sword into my heart and end my life. It’ll hurt for just a second,” says WV. “Just a second.”

“But your wounds aren’t fatal… you wouldn’t die. _But you wouldn’t die!”_  you howl. You throw your head down onto his breast and start to sob heavily. They rack your body and leave you gasping and hiccuping for air.

“PM. PM. _Penny_.” You feel him take a handful of your hair and lightly pull you up. His grip is firm but gentle, and you can feel it waning. “I was dead the moment I got here,” says Will, his voice shaky. He’s crying too. “I never was going to leave this place alive. But you will. Because I need you to do something." He looks down at his pocket. “You just cried on the letter, the one to my sister. Serenity needs to get it. It’s my dying request to you. Can you?”

You stare at Will and his dirty, tired face. He just wants to rest. It’s been so hard. “This is what has to be,” you say weakly. “Because there’s only one winner.”

“Only one winner,” he echoes. “Goodbye, PM.”

You find his beating heart and push the point of your sword in. It slides between his ribs like it was always meant to go there. Will’s eyes widen and he convulses, but like he said, only for a moment. You feel his fingers spasm in your hair and drift to the ground. He’s still in seconds.

You stand up and stare at his peaceful face for a long moment. He’s… smiling. The letter is sealed, stained with dirt and grime and blood and now tears.

But it’s intact. And you will get out of this place to deliver it.

Someone is coming.

You look over to find a girl walking into the clearing. She’s a short, full-figured young woman. Her uniform is torn and she’s spattered with dirt and blood. Around her head is a torn pink headscarf. You recognize it.

Melissa Paint. She usually goes by the name Missy.

“Penny…” She stares at you, her eyes bleary from crying. “Penny, thank God. I saw… I saw…”

“Jack?

“Y-y-yeah.” Missy sniffs. “You too?”

“He let you go, didn’t he?”

“He d-did. I don’t know why.” Missy starts to walk towards you before hesitating.

It’s alright, Missy,” you call. “I won’t hurt you.”

She takes a few steps towards you, but stops in her tracks. “Um… who killed these two? Was it you?”

“I killed WV… Will.” Yes. You did. You look over at the massive corpse by him. “He killed Cans, though.”

“Okay…” Missy stops in her tracks, twelve feet away. “But they were bad, right? They were fighting, and then Will attacked you, right?”

“No. He was hurt and helpless. I slid my sword into his chest and killed him.” You turn to Missy and start walking towards her. “Why did you assume I was good, Melissa? Because I’m a girl? Because we were friendly back in the old place? Or maybe… maybe it’s because I saw Jack too.” She’s not moving. “But I think I know why he spared me and you and not all those others he’s killed. He’s always liked you. Maybe he wanted to fuck you or something. He spared me, though, because he wants a good fight. And he knew that all I needed was some time and some motivation. I have both. Now I need one more thing.”

Melissa takes a step back. “Wh-wh-what’s that?”

“A kill in cold blood,” you say.

Melissa takes off in a run, but you’re faster. You have six inches of leg on her, of course you are. You close in, in, and slash her back open. You mostly get fabric, but there’s a deep gash all the same, and she falls on her stomach with a cry.

You stomp down on her shoulder and pick your shot. “No, Penny, no!” She cries. “Please! Don’t!”

“I’m sorry,” you say numbly. You don’t feel very sorry. You don’t feel anything. “But there’s only one winner. And it isn’t you.”

You stab down through her throat. The sword slides through easily. She hacks and coughs and a puddle of dark blood forms around her head in moments, but just like William, she’s soon still.

You just killed an innocent girl and you feel nothing. That means that you’re ready.

No more running. You’ll kill Jack yourself.

  


42ND SESSION

53 HOURS INTO THE GAME

2 STUDENTS REMAINING

Your name is Penny Majors, and since the sun rose, you have been searching. You did not sleep.

Your sword feels good in your hand. It has not left your grip for a moment since Melissa’s death. You don’t want there to be any surprises.

You know why Jack spared you, and you don’t think he’ll try and hurt you in anything but a fair duel. But that was two days ago, and who knows what’s happened to him since then? He might be an animal, capable of nothing but killing.

Like he was ever anything else. You tend towards the largest cluster of zones that are still unrestricted. It’s the center of the mining operation, a rocky and destitute place covered in mine shafts. Every so often, you’ve stumbled upon a bloated and horrid-smelling corpse. More than half were killed in the same fashion- sliced up by a blade.

You found one who was alive. Malone Matchsticks was terrified and violent, and he attacked you. You killed him. It was easy.

But you still haven’t found Jack. At least, not until now.

He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, eating some freeze dried meat. “They usually don’t give players meat,” he observes as he chews. “I wonder why this time they did.”

You look him up and down. His entire body is caked with blood and filth. Some patches of skin show through, but between his ebony uniform and the utter mess that’s covering his body, he looks like a black shadow given function.

You don’t look much better, you bet. Your uniform is filthy, and you haven’t bathed all game. But the blood on you is thin spattering. You don’t look like him, you don’t think.

“One more kill,” you say. “And then I go home.”

“How many have you killed?”

You put up three fingers. “A friend. And two others. How about you?”

“I’ve lost count, honestly. Many. More than a dozen.” He shows you his teeth. “It’s very easy for me, killing. They weren’t really people to me. Just sacks of water that move very slowly.”

“You’ll find that I’m quite quick.” You brandish your sword. “Why did you spare me?”

“Because you were my opposite. You had so much… empathy.” Jack slowly rises. His own sword hangs limply in his right hand. “I wanted to see you become like me. I knew you would, with some prompting. Everyone has the will to live, but you need more than that to win. You need the will to kill.” You notice Jack shift his sword from his dominant hand to his left. “Not even enjoyment. Just to do it and not feel anything. And when I look in your eyes, PM, I can see that you were born with that. Like me.”

“You do not call me PM,” you snarl. “That is the name my friends gave me. I am Penny to you. You monster.”

“Are you any different?”

“I am different from you. You came here ready to kill. You’re a beast, Jack, you’ve never been anything else. I was a person once. Now I’m just some parts to move this sword around. I could have died like all the others, but I chose this.”

You ready your sword. “I am not like you, Jack. I am far worse.”

You charge.

Your sword finds his, and the rest is just your muscles doing what comes naturally. You feel nothing. Slowly, all but Jack fades away.

His stench of death floods your nostrils. The atmosphere behind him melts into running colors. The only sound is his breathing and the clash of metal as he parries your blows. Jack is your reality, your alpha and omega. You exist only to destroy him.

And in that moment, you realize, you love him. How couldn’t you? You understand him on a level that can’t be put into words. You’ve felt his darkness creeping up around you, moving you, becoming you.

He’s beautiful, in his way. A genius with the blade, to kill so many. You wish you had seen it sooner, seen how incredible Jack is, so that you could have become like him sooner.

But it’s so late now.  There is nothing left to do but for one of you to destroy the other. Two of the same person is redundant. And you are his better, you know you are.

He’s hurt. The bastard is hurt. He’s hiding it well, lazily fighting off your attacks with his left arm, but you can see the deep dark cut on his right. He can’t swing the sword with it. He can’t block or parry. He can’t do shit.

Your muscles burn warmly as you fight. It feels amazing to finally get your hands on him. For as much as you love Jack, you hate him too. Not for anything he’s done, no. You hate him for being. His pain is something for you to feed on, to keep fighting, to hurt him as badly as you can possibly hurt him.

And there is pain. He can’t hide it. It flashes over his face in beautiful bursts. He’s tired- working his way through most of your class has depleted him. He is tired, and he wants to rest.

“Rest, Jack,” you grunt, pulling your sword up to strike again. “Just put your sword down and rest. I won’t let you linger for very long.”

“You got an attitude,” he grins. “Got fiery. I like it. You wear it well. But I won’t lie down.”

“You only have one arm left.”

“True. Let’s even things up.” He reaches into his pants and pulls out something black and shiny- a pistol. Your eyes widen and you dart away, but it’s too late.

Pain blossoms like fire in your shoulder, and you cry out. You feel the holes that were just drilled in your arm explode in agony, and your ears ring.

You don’t fall, though. You turn around and stare at him. “Only two shots?” You ask.

“All I had left. Now it’s even. One arm to one arm.” He tosses his pistol to the side and brandishes his sword. “Round three.”

You attack him again, and this time it is far more even. You have more energy still, but he has more strength and skill. You trade small victories, your blades clashing in showers of sparks as both of your swings become weaker. Killing Jack will take everything you have.

Or more than that. William and Melissa and Malone.. Your three kills, the three lives that you took. What an odd turn of phrase. You took them… that means they’re yours, right?

They’re part of you, just as Jack is, and you will use them as weapons against him. But he has weapons too- all the kids he killed, Alex and Wendolyn and Woden and so many others. But to him, they were just meat, obstacles. They meant nothing to him.

You may have not felt anything when you killed them, but you loved them all. They were important to you. And they will serve you.

The holes in your arm don’t mean anything. You attack and attack like you weren’t bleeding and hurt. This is all you have left.

Slowly, gradually, the tide turns in your favor. Jack’s moves become slower, his breaths more shallow. Every flash of weakness on his part feeds and strengthens you.

You drive him back towards the mine shafts. Great abysses litter the ground like mouths begging to swallow you both.

Jack is going to go in one of those, you decide. He’ll fall and he’ll fatally shatter his body, and you will sit and wait for him to succumb to his injuries. Maybe he’ll scream for you. You’d like that.

Jack takes two steps back, then three, and the soil behind him starts to darken. He’s becoming frantic and desperate, and there’s more wasted motion in his swings.

You parry a too-wide one and counterattack with a kick. It almost takes you off your feet, but your foot meets Jack’s hard stomach and he is blown back another step.

This is your chance. You swing again with all your strength. Jack moves his sword up to block.

There’s a twisting noise as metal is destroyed.

For a moment, neither of you move. You look down at your sword, then at Jack’s. Yours is fine. His has broken, the bloody old blade embedded in the dirt and the black handle still in his hands. He blinks, then with a scream attacks you.

He’s still much stronger than you. His good arm grabs your bad one and pulls hard. You shriek as the dirt beneath your feet gives way and you feel yourself start to fall.

He’s throwing you in.

But you won’t die without killing him. You reach back and pull, and Jack starts to plummet down with you.

In less than a second, the two of you are swallowed by darkness. You see him falling next to you, and you grab onto him. You sink your teeth into the first bit of flesh you can find, and Jack roars in pain.

You maneuver yourself on top of him and clutch him. He’s surprisingly warm. “ _Die slow_ ,” you whisper in his ear.

Your bodies hit the ground. There’s an inferno of pain indescribable, and then silence.

* * *

Some time passes.

Your consciousness fades in and out, but you are never fully awake. Sometimes you know exactly what’s going on, other times only the faintest colors run into your brain. You remember being airlifted out of the cavern, and you remember a helicopter.

Most of the time, however, you don’t know. You dream of William and your other friends. They’re all together, all smiling and happy. But when you come to join them, they turn to dust and blood before you can touch them. Will is the last to disintegrate, and he always gives you a slow, sad smile before your hand clutches his arm and he becomes nothing.

This happens countless times.

Then one day you wake up.

It’s a clean white room- a hospital room, you think. There is no one else here. You cannot move.

You look down, and you realize that you can’t see anything when you do. You try to speak, and you cannot. Your entire body is encased in a full-body cast, you soon realize.

Your eyes dart around the room, for lack of anything else to do. What’s going on? Are you still alive? Did you win?

You have no idea how much time passes. Sometimes you fall asleep, and then you wake up and nothing is different. Sometimes a doctor comes in, but you can’t say anything to him and he has nothing to say to you. He checks the machines that surround you, writes something down, turns the lights off, and leaves.

You don’t move for anything. An IV feeds food directly into your bloodstream. You’re afraid to pee for the longest time, but when you do you find that a catheter sucks it all up. Sometimes a nurse comes in to switch your IV or hook up a new catheter. She doesn’t even look at you as she works.

One day (night? morning?) you wake up to find a pressure in your stomach. You have to shit, but there’s nobody here. You shut your eyes and tears well up in them. Even this, the most basic of dignities, has been stripped of you. A nurse comes in with a bedpan hours later, but it’s too late.

After days, months, eons of this, a man walks in. A green man in a white coat with a long, pale face. You recognize him.

“Miss Majors,” Doctor Scratch says calmly. “Congratulations on your victory.”

He walks around to your side and sits on your bed, his green eyes flashing. “It has been almost a month since your game ended. We didn’t think you’d wake up. It’s been touch-and-go here for a while. Your injuries are quite extensive, and so we have been keeping you sedated. Blink twice if you can understand me.”

You do as he says.

Scratch’s smile widens. “Excellent. Mister Noir did not survive his fall, probably because you were using his body as a cushion for your own. He is dead. You are the winner of the 42nd Annual Program, Miss Majors.”

He reaches into his coat and pulls something out. A red-and-brown piece of paper. Your eyes widen.

“This was found in your school uniform. A letter, I believe, with the seal intact. Addressed to Serenity Valfrid, younger sister of your classmate Mister William Valfrid. He wanted her to receive it, didn’t he? How sweet. It belongs to you, so you can have it, but she won’t be receiving it anytime soon.”

Scratch puts the letter out of your sight. “You see, you’ll be relocated to a new city once you’re well enough to travel. We’ll pay for a place for you to live and a new school for you to attend. I know you’d like to stay with your own parents, but I have some bad news on that front. They protested your participation in the Program quite loudly and vehemently. Both have been arrested for dissension. I don’t believe you’ll be seeing them again.”

You stare at Scratch, your eyes glassy. Unperturbed, he continues. “We’ll be watching you closely, so don’t even think about trying to leave the city to deliver this letter to Mister Valfrid’s parents. In addition, your injuries involve a break in most of the bones in your face, so you’ll be receiving reconstructive surgery. A new city, a new school, a new face. We’re giving you a new beginning, Miss Majors.”

“Oh, and that reminds me. We’d like for you to start using an alias- we wouldn’t want the other kids to bully you for your time in our Program. The only question is what to call you…” Scratch studies you for a moment. “You’re unpredictable, aren’t you? Surprised even me, and I am almost never surprised. How someone so innocuous could be the sort of person you are… it’s almost as if I opened Pandora’s Box.” Scratch nods. “Yes, that name will work. Pandora… Pandora Merriett. I like that last name. Your new name is Pandora Merriett.”

Scratch stands up. “Well, goodbye Miss Merriett. I have many other duties, much as I’d like keeping you company. You have a long, arduous road to recovery in front of you… more than a year, in fact. I won’t distract you from it, and I don’t think anyone else will.”

You stare at the old man. “I’ll…” Talking is nigh-impossible. Your throat is as dry as sand. But you do have something to say. “I’ll… kill… you.”

Scratch’s eyebrows go up. “I see. Well, good luck with that. Goodbye, Miss Merriett.” He walks out the door. You don’t see him again.

You don’t speak again for well over a year.

END OF CHAPTER ZERO


	28. Become Someone I'm Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> http://archiveofourown.org/works/419286/chapters/2378819/edit#

 

Your name is Nepeta Leijon, and you don’t understand.

Equius told you to wait for him, to let him take care of what was making all those gunshots. You told him it was dangerous, but he told you that was why he wanted you to stay back. “I won’t let anything bad happen,” he promised. Equius always keeps his promises. Always always.

But not this time. Equius lied. He let something bad happen, he let Dave Strider kill him. Why would Dave do something so mean? He had always seemed nice to you, but no one nice could possibly hurt Equius. 

And when you tried to hurt Dave right back, Equius lied again. He let another bad thing happen when Jade shot you in the arm, and it hurts so bad that you just keep crying. You can feel the bullet in your shoulder, still there in the bone. You know that’s bad, and it’s been getting harder and harder to use your arm.

You’ve had to make your own bandages, but they keep bleeding through. The rain wasn’t helping, either- you hate rain normally, but it made your bandages slide off and the heavy drops burned when they hit your bullet wound.

The rain’s finally died down, but your hands are numb and slippery. You barely managed to untie your bandages, and making a new dressing is impossible.

You sit against the tree and try not to cry. Equius would want you to be strong, because he said that you had to make it back home, and you couldn’t do that if you weren’t strong enough. But it’s hard, so hard. You’re so cold and tired and lonely. You wish Equius was still here. You wish you were back home.

You hear someone coming. For a moment, you stupidly believe it to be Equius, but it can’t be. He’s gone forever.

But it sounds a little like Equius. Big, heavy boy footsteps, crushing twigs underfoot. You stand up and keep your eyes on the sound.

The boy to emerge is Gamzee Makara. His entire body is covered in mud and blood, and his hair isn’t as big as usual because it’s been beaten down by the rain, but you’d know that smile anywhere. There are weapons strapped to his back, and in his hands is a large green object- a chainsaw, you realize.

“Hi Gamzee,” you say, your eyes wide. “Are you alone, too?”

“I am,” he says in a small, raspy voice. “But you’re gonna give me some motherfucking company, huh?”

You can smell his bloodlust. He wants to… he’s going to… oh god. You put up one claw. “S-stay back!” you shriek. “I’ll kill you, I swear!”

“Aw, don’t be like that.” Gamzee’s hand finds the ripcord of the chainsaw. “I got this new toy here, took it off Maryam’s body. Haven’t had the chance to play with it yet, and I need some motherfucker to play with.” He cocks his head at you and smiles. “Whadya say?”

“No. Nonono, get near me and I’ll-”

He pulls the rip cord and the chainsaw screams to life. The teeth are so long, and they look so sharp. “S’cool,” he shrieks, and the fact that you can hear him over the roar of the weapon means that he must be shouting. “I don’t really care what you wanna motherfucking do!”

He begins to walk towards you.

 

 

* * *

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and you don’t know what’s happening to you.

It started the moment you found out where you were and what was expected of you. This gnawing feeling, like you were an apple being consumed by worms from the inside. You were being gutted and replaced with something new. You were still Rose Lalonde, but who knew for how long?

That was just happening without prompting, and it didn’t seem to be affecting your friends. But they had never seen it- they had never looked in the eyes of a Program winner and seen the profound, unending emptiness that lies within.

The Roxy Lalonde you once knew and the Roxy Lalonde you met in the hospital were two different people. They walked differently, they spoke differently, they gave off different auras. It must have been why she was drinking so much- Roxy was hollow, with nothing left in her. She had to fill herself up somehow.

And you don’t think you were empty, not yet. You have warm memories of late nights watching movies or talking with Casey, of watching the sunsets in the dog days of summer with Jade, of trying to keep a straight face throughout John’s latest bit, of kicking Dave’s ass at whatever game he happened to like that month. The Rose Lalonde you once were lives still, but she’s wasting away fast. From what you’ve seen of the Rose Lalonde that will take her place, she doesn’t seem particularly pleasant.

But she might be the person you need to be to survive this game.

You got some bad news a few hours ago: Kanaya Maryam was dead. Like that, a girl you loved and respected was no more. Did she die in pain? Who killed her? Did she go willingly or fighting? Was she still Kanaya when she died? All those questions ran through your head, but at no point did you feel the need to break down grieving. As PM had told you, there’d be time to cry and freak out later. You had the more pressing matter of vetting Vriska Serket to take care of.

Serendipitously enough, you did get an answer to your questions: Simone Frost shot Kanaya. When pressed, Vriska said that Maryam did not die in pain. She didn’t even seem to know she had been killed until it had happened.

Of course, that’s assuming you believe a word that comes out of Serket’s mouth, which you really don’t. She has always rubbed you the wrong way. Despite your many mutual friends and contacts, you have always avoided contact with her, and she’s wisely identified you as someone to be put onto her “do not fuck with” list.

You’d put a bullet between her eyes without thinking twice if it wasn’t for John. And that, you think, is the most telling sign of change in you.

The four of you walked along until you stumbled upon the mother of all safehouses: a lighthouse. With your backs to the sea, only one entrance, plenty of upper floor windows to attack assailants from, and a great look-out point at the top, this place is a veritable fortress. You could defend against a small army in here.

And best of all, it was full of useful things. Vriska found a thick comforter and wrapped her soaked body in it. She’s currently huddled in the corner, shivering and trying to get dry. A pot of soup that John and you threw together from various ingredients in the kitchen is bubbling away on the stove. John’s standing guard over it, occasionally tasting and adding comments like “needs salt” or “if only we had some onions!”

You’re carefully reading the manual of your gun. Doing it one-eyed is slow going, but you’re managing. “Double Action,” you say aloud. “What does that mean?”

John looks up. “Hmm?”

You hold up the soaked manual for Casey’s gun. “Walther PP Semi-Automatic Double Action Pistol. I know semi-automatic means the gun doesn’t need to be reloaded each time it is fired. What does double action mean?”

John shrugs. “Maybe it’s twice as good as single action?”

“It has to do with the hammer,” says Vriska. You turn to face her. “With a single action gun, you have to cock the hammer back before every shot. You cock the hammer, pull the trigger, then repeat. With a double action, the hammer cocks by itself. Just click, click, click. You don’t have to do anything until you run out of shots.”

“Hmm.” You look from Vriska to your gun to John back to her. “How do you know so much about guns?”

Vriska smiles at you. “I think they’re cool! Info’s hard to come by, but I pirated a manual about them and learned some neat stuff.”

John beams at this small victory. Vriska has just proved herself useful to you, he thinks. You grind your teeth together and set the manual aside. “PM is coming back in,” you say.

The door upstairs opens and a set of footsteps traipses down them. PM comes into view. “The rain’s stopped,” she says, “and it’s a starry night. Visibility is pretty good, probably will remain that way through sunrise.”

“Any noises?” you ask.

“Gunfire on the east end of the island, far from us. Wrapped up before the rain did. The fact that I was able to hear it means there was a lot of it.” PM sits down next to you at the table. “Oh, and something that might have been the roar of a chainsaw. Soup ready yet? I’m starving.”

The next few minutes are devoted to the clanking of spoons as the four of you eat. It needs salt and is rather thin, but the soup warms your insides and travels all the way to the tips of your fingers.

“It’s nearly midnight,” says John between spoonfuls. “So I guess we ought to think about what we’re going to do tomorrow?”

“Depends on how many died since six,” you say. “It could be quite a few.”

“I agree,” says PM. “Day three is generally the endgame, where less than ten classmates are left. It could be a violent night, so we should definitely have someone guard the door.”

“Oh, do you watch the Programs?” Vriska asks, pushing her soup away.

“DVD box set.” PM smiles ruefully. “It was… a gift. Thought they’d be good to study if I ever ended up here.”

The obvious word omitted is “again”. You let your eyes linger on PM for a moment. Why is she hiding her past in The Program from Vriska?

“What’s your favorite, Pandora?” Vriska asks excitedly. “I like, umm, number eight. That gun battle at the end was so cool!”

“It’s a good one.” PM finishes her soup and pushes it away. “I actually like the very first one. Something about that boy who won…”

“Mmm? You think he was cute or something?”

“Not that. Well, maybe a little.” PM chuckles. “He seemed very… confident. I don’t think he ever doubted he’d win. It was interesting.”

“You guys realize you’re talking about murder, don’t you?” John asks, putting his spoon down. 

 

“I’m a murderer. So’s she,” you say, gesturing to PM. “And I wish I had seen the other Programs now that I’m here. I feel unprepared.”

“You’re doing just fine,” smiles PM.

“Hello children,” says Scratch. You look around as all the collars begin to sound unanimously with his silky voice. “Congratulations on a very fine day two. It seems you were rather desperate to reduce your numbers in these final hours. Your casualties are: Male Student Number Two Tavros Nitram, lasting longer than expected.” No surprise there. “Female Student Number Two Jade Harley, a classic Program moment.” What?

“Female Student Number Four Terezi Pyrope, proving herself too clever by half. Male Student Number Five Dave Strider, who fought valiantly.” … _What_? “Male Student Number Ten Harvey Boxcars, in my current nominee for death of the Program, and Male Student Number Fourteen Eridan Ampora, who finally had something done about that hideous streak in his hair. Now for the no-man’s-lands, are you all ready? H7, I5, and D3. That’s H7, I5, and D3. Good luck on day three.”

And like that, his voice is gone.

Your eyes dart to John, but he’s already stood up. Tears have immediately welled in his blue eyes, and his chest is beginning to rise and fall alarmingly quickly. “John,” you say, “remain calm. Don’t-”

But he’s not having it. John bursts away from the table and runs out the door of the lighthouse. You rise to go after him, but Vriska beats you to standing.

“Let me,” she says. “I… I wanna do it. You guys stay here and hold down the fort.”

You open your mouth to argue, but Vriska’s gone too before you can. You sigh and sit back down before you notice that PM is staring at you.

“What?” you ask.

“Two of your best friends just died,” she says. “How does that make you feel?”

You take a long pause before answering. “It doesn’t.”

PM smiles. “Good.”

 

 

* * *

Your name is John Egbert, and you’ve failed.

You’ve tried hard, so very hard, not to think about it. You knew people would die. People you liked, people you’d miss. That was hard to stomach, but you were going to do it. You could never hope to save everyone, or even most of everyone.

You just wanted to protect your friends. That was it. Rose, Dave, Jade, Vriska, Karkat. Everyone else… sad as you were to think it, you’re just one kid. When Scratch came on via the collars to tell you that they had died, it didn’t hurt that bad. So long as none of those names were uttered.

You had the image so clearly in your mind: the six of you, plus PM and whoever else comes along for the ride, escaping this island together. To where? To what? No clue. But it was so vivid, so real, that it just had to happen. And announcement after announcement, where those names failed to appear, you knew that it would be true. Hell, you even stumbled on Vriska at the exact right moment to save her life! It was destined to be.

Or so you thought. Dave Strider, the bravest and most honest person you’ve ever met, is dead. Jade Harley, the kindest and most helpful person you’ve ever met, is dead. Gone. You will never see them again, never hear their voices, nothing. You failed to protect them.

You ran for a bit before sitting your ass down in the mud. You just couldn’t be around other people for a little while- you didn’t want to cry in front of them. PM and probably Rose already see you as the weak link anyways, and they’re right. You wouldn’t sob where they could see it, you wouldn’t burden them with yourself further.

You’re useless. You can’t do anything for anyone, and the only reason you’ve survived this long is through luck and strong allies. It should have been you to go, not Dave or Jade.

You’re trying to cry, but the tears won’t come. That sound is stopping you.

It’s hideous- far away but clear as a bell. The revving of an engine, the grinding of steel teeth through something, occasional shrieks. It doesn’t take a genius (of which you assuredly are not) to figure out what’s happening.

“Just stop!” you cry out, covering your ears. “Stop it, stop it, stop it!”

When you uncover your ears, much to your surprise, the noise has stopped. You recline against the tree, staring glassily ahead. “Found yoooooooou,” sings a voice behind you. You whip around to find Vriska Serket standing there.

She walks over to you and crouches down. “Ew, are you sitting in the mud? Your ass will get dirty, you know that, right?!”

You just look at her miserably. Her cocky smile, her lit-up eyes… she wants to make you feel better. You doubt there’s anything she can do.

It’s a long moment before one of you speaks. “Y’know, Terezi was my best friend,” says Vriska. “Other than you, anyways. I always looked up to her, she was always so smart and in-control. She knew what had to be done and when to do it. I knew she had my back, no matter what sort of shit I got into.” Vriska shakes her head, her hair whipping back and forth. “When she attacked me… it was like the Terezi I knew had died. There wasn’t the girl I knew in her body, not anymore. So I’m not that upset that she got killed for real… it might be for the best, really. I’d rather die than become someone I’m not.”

You stare at Vriska confusedly. “What are you saying?”

“You don’t know what happened to Dave or Jade,” shrugs Vriska. “They could be… like that. Different.”

“I-” you’re about to rebuke her before you realize you have no reason to believe her to be wrong. After all, it’s unfolding right in front of your eyes with Rose. If her, then why not Dave or Jade? “I don’t think that makes it better,” you say in a small voice.

“Maybe you’re lucky that they died with your last memories of them being on the bus here. I heard you guys talking and laughing. They were great people, John, and you were lucky to have them. But how else could this work out?” Vriska’s voice is even and calm. It doesn’t really suit her.

“I could help them,” you say. “Like I helped you. I could keep them safe.”

“And then what? I know it’s a nasty thing to think about, but only one of us can leave the island. If they didn’t die now, sooner or later you’d have to fight them. What if you ran into them, John? But it wasn’t them anymore- Jade pulled a gun on you and tried to kill you, while Dave goes after me and Rose and Pandora? Could you kill them? Even if you had to, could you kill your best friends?”

“No.” The words leave your mouth surprisingly quickly. “They’re my friends, all I have left. I would never fight them- I don’t care if it’s Dave or Jade or Rose or you. Like you said, I’d rather die than be someone I’m not. And the John that I am is one who would never hurt a friend- not even if they were trying to hurt him.”

Vriska stares at you, and you can tell she doesn’t know what to think. “So… if I was to try to kill you, and you had the choice between killing me and letting me kill you…”

You seize her bony hands between yours, and put them up to your neck. “If that’s what you gotta do,” you say. “Because you’re my friend, Vriska. And I don’t want you to die.”

Shakily, Vriska’s hands leave your neck. “You’re… heh.” Vriska throws her head back and laughs loudly and deeply. When she’s done, she wipes a tear from her eye and smiles warmly at you. “You’re too fucking good for us, Egbert. Like a damn saint. You deserve to get off this hellhole.” She leans over and pulls your damp hair up, then lightly kisses you on the forehead. Her lips are thin and clammy. “I’m so glad that I found you.”

“Likewise,” you say, peering up at her and trying to smile.

“How motherfucking touching,” says a high, squealing voice from behind you. You turn around and see him.

Gamzee Makara is leaning against a tree, his arms folded and his grin unsettlingly large. His entire body is covered in blood, oozing and dripping down from his arms and chest. Some of it looks dry and cracking, while other bits are fresh. The chainsaw- it was his.

But he doesn’t have it now. On his back is a pair of weapons: a silver fencing foil and a crude baseball bat with nails hammered through the head. You realize, with a sickening turn of your stomach, that you neglected to bring any weapons with you.

“Heya, Egbert. Just looking to get my motherfucking stretch on! I was busy with something, and when I was finished, I felt like moving around a bit, ya feel me? And I heard some chatting over yonder, so what passed through my mind was, ‘better say ‘lo to the new neighbors!’” Gamzee steps forward, his movements jerky and lurching like he himself doesn’t know what his body is going to do. “Then I stumbled upon a couple of motherfuckers about to get their smooch on, and I just thought that it was the cutest shit my eyeholes ever sucked in.”

You glance at Vriska. She’s starting at Gamzee, her tiny fists clenched and her face ashen. She doesn’t have a weapon either, you don’t think. God damn it.

“Lessee… we’re down to eleven motherfuckers, right?” Gamzee does a quick count on his fingers. He doesn’t seem to be speaking to you. “Ten soon enough, once that cunt bleeds out… make it eight with the two of you… heh, almost there, eh? Let’s have some fun with it.”

You rise to your feet and keep your eyes on him. “What?”

“Fancy a fistfight? No weapons, I promise. Just a couple of guys throwing hands for kicks, if you catch me.” Gamzee pulls both his weapons free and drops them to the ground. “See? If I win, I kill ya both. If you win… well, you ain’t gonna win. But we can skip the sweet bits and go right to me crushing the you two motherfuckers’ skulls.”

“Don’t fight him,” says Vriska as she puts a hand on your shoulder. “He’s not… he’s not a person anymore, John. Even if you could beat him before, you can’t now.”

“I know,” you say. You can’t outrun him- Gamzee is built for speed, and he’s got plenty of leg on both you and Vriska. Leading him back to the lighthouse would probably be the smartest choice, but…

But that would be leading him straight to your friends, wouldn’t it? And you won’t endanger them by exposing them to this animal. Yeah, Rose and PM are more capable than you, but letting him know where you live and who you’re with could seriously fuck things up. He could attack you all when you’re vulnerable.

No, the best move here is to stall. “Vriska, go get the others,” you whisper. “Get out of here, I’ll handle this.”

Vriska decides not to argue. She squeezes your shoulder and disappears into the trees.

Alright. Let’s do this.

You put your fists up and start strafing towards the taller boy. Gamzee lurches forward to meet you. Ten feet apart. Seven. Five. Four.

Contact.

You swing your fist for his chest, and Gamzee simply draws back and out of the way. You follow up with a few more punches that he also easily dodges.

You remember what PM told you during your spar: be more aggressive. Don’t show mercy, don’t show compassion. Your objective is to hurt your opponent, to kill them if you must. Against Gamzee, that part’s not hard. That unflinching grin, those insect eyes… Vriska’s right. This is not a human being- this is a beast in human skin.

You pursue him with everything you have, but Gamzee just paces back and away, just out of range of your fists. He sends a few shots your way, but they’re slow, looping punches that you dodge pretty easily. It seems that’ll be your fight: both of you too quick to be hit by the other but not quick enough to actually land a punch.

Until a hard right by Gamzee sends you sprawling.

Where did that come from? That punch was easily twice as quick as his previous ones. One moment his fist was at his side, and the next it was flattening your nose.

You taste coppery blood dribble down from it onto your lips and into your mouth. Your nose might be broken. You draw up, shout to give yourself courage, and charge back in.

Your blows just can’t land. Gamzee dodges them all easily and returns each one with a painful shot of his own. His fists find your body over and over again, and hard as you try to block or dodge, he’s just so damned quick. He’s toying with you- he could beat you easily, but he wants to enjoy your suffering. Your ribs sting, your arms are heavy with welts, and if your nose wasn’t broken after the first shot, then it definitely is after the second.

You can barely follow it. It’s a blur. You fall back against a tree, breathing hard and wiping the sweat and tears out of your eyes.

Gamzee’s long leg snaps up like a cobra into your stomach, squeezing the air out of you like toothpaste and sending you to the ground. “Fun’s over,” he says quietly, before his voice switches to a guttural screech. “ _Now you fucking die!_ ” 

You hear metal scrape as he lifts the sword and carries it over to you. So that’s it, then. You die without ceremony or reason right here and now.

Oh well. At least Vriska got away, and maybe you’ll even be allowed to see Dave and Jade again. You close your eyes.

Metal comes down.

And meets metal.

You open your eyes as you realize that you are not, in fact, dead. You pull yourself back to find Gamzee’s sword clashed against the blade of one Pandora Merriett. “So you’re back,” she says. “And here I thought I killed you.”

“The fuck you talking ‘bout, bitch? We ain’t ever met before,” says Gamzee, before leaping back. “But if you want an ass-kicking too, I’ll oblige.”

“You never change, do you? Different face, different voice, same guy.” PM smiles, but that’s not her usual warm one. This smile is cold, devoid of all joy. “I don’t mind killing you as many times as it takes. But this time I’ll have some fun with it.”

She charges in and her blade flies like air.

The gap between you and Gamzee was considerable. He had been playing with you like a cat with a mouse’s tail between its claws. He was more focused in beating you, hurting you, enjoying your expressions of pain than actually winning the fight.

What Gamzee did to you, PM is now doing to him. He’s simply no match for her.

His parries and dodges save him from death strikes, but the machete lands multiple glancing blows. PM’s posture is relaxed and her body loose as she dances around Gamzee, attacking him from a thousand angles as he desperately tries to keep up. At one point, she turns her blade to its flat and slams it down against Gamzee’s leg, causing him to howl in pain and stagger away.

“Don’t be such a baby,” she says. “You think that hurt? Sweetie, you don’t even know pain yet.”

“Oh trust me, motherfucker, I do,” Gamzee snarls, limping back a few steps. “You ain’t terrible, but I expected that shit from you. Doubt I can beat you, really. I’m motherfucking outclassed, eh?”

“Smart boy. But you’d have to be, wouldn’t you? Dumb animals don’t live for long.” PM shakes her head, bloody strands of hair scattering in every direction. “So wrap your clever brain around this one: I know you’re the one who’s been torturing that girl for the past hour. Nepeta Leijon, I’m guessing. And for whatever pain you caused her and people like her, I’m going to give back to you tenfold.” She starts walking towards Gamzee, and he backpedals. He’s afraid- afraid of Pandora. “By the time I’m through with you, you won’t beg for death or anything so cliche. You won’t do shit, because there won’t be a Gamzee Makara when I’m done. I’m going to show you what happens when a rank amateur with a good weapon, a decent build, and a modicum of natural talent ends up pissing off a  _real_  monster.” She gestures to herself with her thumb. “Smart thing to do here would be to stick that sword into your head right now.”

Gamzee glances down at his blade, and on that PM charges. You’ve seen her fight and move before, but never like this. This is it- her full abilities. She’s a whirlwind of steel, her sword coming at Gamzee a half dozen times before he can even block. He cries out and goes to the ground, his sword clattering out of his hand. PM stands over him, blade up like an executioner.

“First thing’s first,” she says. “Your hands. You won’t be needing them anymore.”

“Aww, and here I was hoping for a teary blade through the heart,” says Gamzee in a raspy whisper. “Like you did Will Valfrid.”

PM freezes like a statue. Her legs go stiff and her eyes go wide, and Gamzee seizes his opportunity. He kicks her knee out and throws his weight at her, raining stiff punches down. Pandora covers her head with her arms, but Gamzee seizes her sword.

He swings that filthy, bloody blade with the intention of chopping PM’s head in two, but she manages to move just in time. The blade slashes open her forehead, instantly creating a deep, dark cut. PM’s hands go up to cover the fresh wound, but blood oozes through her fingers in a swath.

“Yeah, I know who you are,” Gamzee pants, his arms bleeding and his eyes manic. “Penny motherfucking Majors, in my class. A real monster, no doubt, but you’re still a scared little cunt when it comes to that boy, huh? No doubt in these bones, though.  _No motherfucking doubt_! All that shit ‘bout torturing me, and you still freeze up at the mention of some long-dead motherfucker who made your pussy quiver years back! You fucking disgust me.” He spits. “But you’re too dangerous to play with. A feather in my cap, killing a beast like you.”

You explode forward, throwing all of your not-inconsiderable weight at Gamzee’s midsection. He’s hard as a rock, but you just muscle him to the ground. He’s surprised, but quickly recovers- his leg shifts and MOTHER OF FUCKING GOD

You fall back, clutching your groin. He just kneed you square in the balls, and it hurts. “Don’t think I forgot about you, Egbert,” you hear him say. “Both of your asses are mine.”

Tears in your eyes, you look up at Gamzee, sword in hand and manic grin on his face. “Game over,” he says quietly. “Game… fucking… _over_!”

“Yes,” says a distant voice. “For you.”

Gamzee turns, and three gunshots rip through the air. He goes flying back, hitting the ground. Three trails of smoke rise from his body.

You look over at the shooter. Standing there, with a pistol in her hands and a distant look in her uncovered eye, is a lithe female figure. Rose Lalonde.

Rose  _fucking_  Lalonde.

She walks up to PM and inspects her. “That’s a very ugly cut,” she observes.

PM’s eyes are shut as blood pours in rivers down her face. “Deep. And my blade was filthy. It needs to be washed, cleaned, and bandaged fast.” Her voice is slow and deliberate. “Help me up?”

You see a flicker of motion as Vriska runs up to you. “Thank god you’re alright,” she says with an exhale. “When I got to the lighthouse, only Rose was there. Pandora was gone. I was stressing that I wouldn’t make it in time!”

You smile weakly and sit up, ignoring the massive pain in your nuts. “Hey, give me some credit. I’m only mostly useless, not totally. PM’s the one who needs help.”

“Indeed,” says Rose. “John, would you mind assisting PM in getting back to the lighthouse?”

You blink. “Me?”

“Someone needs to protect the three of you,” she says. “In case we’re attacked again.”

With a blur of motion, Gamzee leaps to his feet and sprints away. You barely notice him moving- one moment he’s prone in the mud, the next he’s gone. Rose levies a pair of shots at him, but you doubt she can hit him with no depth perception through the treeline.

“He had a vest,” says PM. “I should have mentioned that, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. We won’t be seeing him again, I don’t think, now that he knows our numbers.” Rose walks over to where he was standing and looks at his two weapons: the bat and the fencing foil. “Hmm.” She picks up the foil, testing its weight. “Quite the weapons he left behind. John, I think you would be well-suited to that bat.”

You eye the gore-soaked weapon. “Um… no thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” Rose makes a few practice strikes into the air with the foil. “Yes… yes, this will do nicely. Come now, everyone, we need to get moving. PM’s forehead isn’t going to bandage itself.”

She’s right. You lift PM up and help her walk while Vriska watches your backs and Rose, sword in hand, leads the four of you back to the lighthouse.

END OF CHAPTER NINETEEN


	29. Flashback Eight: Makara Residence, Psidon City

GAMZEE: I SWEAR TO HOLY MOTHERFUCKING CHRIST THAT I WILL RIP HIS COCK-CHEWING HEAD OFF HIS ANCIENT-ASS BODY AND SHIT DOWN THE HOLE!

GAMZEE: he has gone too far this time.

GAMZEE: OLD GRAMPS AIN’T GETTING OUT OF THIS FUNK ‘TIL I RIP HIM A NEW ASSHOLE.

KARKAT: NO. NO. NO, FUCK YOU, SHUT UP AND PUT A SHIRT ON.

KARKAT: I AM NOT BEING CUTE OR FUNNY, IF YOU KEEP UP THIS TOMFOOLERY THEN BY THE POWER VESTED IN ME I WILL PERSONALLY DRIVE MY FIST INTO EVERY RECENTLY CLOSED WOUND ON YOUR BODY.

GAMZEE: you think you can stop me?

GAMZEE: DO YOU REALLY THINK THAT ANY SHIT YOU CAN PULL OUT I WON’T JUST DROWN IN BLOOD, MOTHERFUCKER?

KARKAT: THE SCARY TALK DOESN’T WORK ON ME, DOUCHEBAG.

KARKAT: I KNOW YOU’D NEVER LAY A HAND ON ME.

GAMZEE: dangerous assumption to make.

GAMZEE: I’M NOTHING IF NOT FULL OF SURPRISES.

GAMZEE: and i assure you, you would be motherfucking surprised by how bad and how fast i can hurt you.

KARKAT: YEAH BUT YOU WON’T.

KARKAT: YOU’VE GOT NO TEETH, MAKARA. YOU TALK A GOOD, IF SOMEWHAT CONFUSING, GAME.

KARKAT: BUT WHEN WE LAY DOWN THE CARDS ONTO THE TABLE, ALL YOU’VE GOT IS A JOKER AND AN UNO CARD THAT SOMEHOW GOT INTO THE DECK.

GAMZEE: NO TEETH?

GAMZEE: no motherfucking teeth, you say?

GAMZEE: CUZ I CAN PROVE TO YOU HOW GOOD I AM AT RIPPING FLESH WITH THESE HERE FANGS, LET ME TELL YOU.

GAMZEE: old man gets back from his shit by seven.

GAMZEE: OLD MAN’S HEAD IS BLOOD AND BONE CHIPS BY EIGHT.

GAMZEE: then we’ll see whose teeth are the longest. :o)

GAMZEE: AND WHOSE TEETH ARE IN LITTLE ROTTING SHARDS ALL OVER THE MOTHERFUCKING FLOORBOARDS. :o(

KARKAT: YOU SEE WHAT I’M HOLDING RIGHT NOW, YOU PROSTATE SUCKER? 

KARKAT: SOME OF THESE WOUNDS ARE FRESH, FUCKING GARDEN GREEN PRODUCE FRESH. 

KARKAT: YOU COULD HAVE FOUGHT BACK ANY TIME, BUT YOU LET HIM DO THIS TO YOU DAY IN AND DAY OUT.

KARKAT: WHY DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT NOW?

GAMZEE: only so much a man can take.

GAMZEE: WHEN I WAS KNEE-HIGH, THERE WASN’T SHIT I COULD DO.

GAMZEE: looking him in the eye made him mad.

GAMZEE: CURLING UP IN A BALL AND ASKING SOME GOD WHO AIN’T THERE TO MAKE HIM STOP WAS EVEN WORSE.

GAMZEE: so i figured i’d just learn to live with it.

GAMZEE: AND MOTHERFUCKER, I GOT DAMNED USED TO ALL HIS MOTHERFUCKERY.

GAMZEE: but even a no-talent clown like myself has got a principle or two.

GAMZEE: AND HE JUST PUT HIS CRUSTY-ASS OLD TOE OVER THAT LINE.

KARKAT: I CAN SEE CIGARETTE BURNS AND DOG BITES AND... WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS, EVEN? 

GAMZEE: uh, i think that’s a dry ice sc-

GAMZEE: MOTHERFUCKING OW!

GAMZEE: try not to touch it.

KARKAT: SORRY.

KARKAT: POINT IS, HE’S PUT YOU THROUGH HELL BASICALLY EVERY DAY FOR A DECADE.

KARKAT: WHAT COULD HE HAVE POSSIBLY DONE TO TRIGGER THIS STUPID-ASS VIOLENT OUTBURST?

GAMZEE: ...

KARKAT: I’M WAITING!

GAMZEE: i don’t wanna say.

KARKAT: WELL THAT’S BOO FUCKING HOO, BECAUSE YOU DON’T GET WHAT YOU WANT. IT’S KARKAT TIME, MOTHERFUCKER, AND YOU’RE GONNA GIVE ME MY ANSWER.

GAMZEE: OR WHAT, MOTHERFUCKER?

KARKAT: OR NOTHING.

KARKAT: I HAVE GOT NOTHING TO THREATEN YOU WITH, AND EVEN IF I DID, I WOULDN’T USE IT.

KARKAT: BUT I AIN’T ASKING POLITELY, BECAUSE I KNOW YOU WON’T DO IT UNLESS I PHRASE IT IN AN AUTHORITATIVE WAY.

GAMZEE: heh. you know me well, motherfucker.

GAMZEE: ALRIGHT. I GOT YOUR ANSWER FOR YOU.

GAMZEE: the old man threatened you.

KARKAT: ...

GAMZEE: SAID HE’D TEAR YOUR FACE CLEAN OFF IF YOU STUCK YOUR NOSE IN HIS BUSINESS AGAIN. TOLD ME TO TELL YOU.

GAMZEE: so i figured, i could just kill him in front of you and settle the motherfucking issue.

KARKAT: GAMZEE... I DON’T UNDERSTAND HOW YOUR BRAIN COULD BE THIS IRREVOCABLY FUCKED UP!

KARKAT: HE’S HUGE, AND A WAR VET, AND FUCKING TERRIFYING! YOU’RE AN EMACIATED HIGH SCHOOLER WITH A TEMPER. HE’D FLATTEN YOU IN A MINUTE.

GAMZEE: SO WHAT DO YOU RECOMMEND THEN, MOTHERFUCKER?

KARKAT: I DUNNO, BE A LITTLE MORE DISCRETE?

KARKAT: I’LL JUST STEER CLEAR OF THIS PLACE FOR A WHILE.

GAMZEE: so nothing changes. i stay here, only i see you even less.

GAMZEE: IS THAT YOUR GENIUS MOTHERFUCKING SOLUTION?

KARKAT: I DON’T KNOW, OKAY?

KARKAT: I DON’T KNOW. I WISH I DID.

KARKAT: NOT EVERY PROBLEM CAN BE SOLVED AND HAVE A NEAT LITTLE BOW PUT ON IT AND FORGOTTEN ABOUT BY NEXT EPISODE, WHERE WE HELP TEREZI OVERCOME HER FEAR OF LIMES BY TRICKING HER INTO ENTERING A LIME-EATING CONTEST.

KARKAT: BUT I’M TRYING, AND I’M TRYING REALLY HARD.

KARKAT: AND I WILL FIX THIS FOR YOU. I PROMISE.

GAMZEE: whatever.

GAMZEE: JUST GET YOUR FILTHY MOTHERFUCKING MITTS OFF OF ME.

KARKAT: LIKE I WANT TO TOUCH YOU! 


	30. The Kill

  


Your name, last you reckon it, is Gamzee Makara.

_Dopey-ass name for a dopey-ass kid._

You dunno if it even is that- you spent so much fucking time conked out on whatever poison you could pour into your system. You’ve always been savvy acquisition-wise, but someday you knew the supply’d dry up. Knew that there’d be a drought, and then hell’d burst forth.

Hell’s been at the door for a few days now. The Kill feels good against your skin. Fresh. Satisfying, like taking a tumble in a freshly-made bed.

_Tell me, motherfucker, ever slept in a bathtub full of ice?_

You’ve been notching up kills since you got here. First one was Seashell. Nice girl, quiet, smart. Watching her quiver after you smashed her skull into nothing was fun, and the vest she’d been carrying was a madman bonus.

Then came Frizzy Izzy. Quick, clever. You remember shit else. Everything from Before is like a cloud of stardust, or a pool of old rainwater. You can hardly see the surface- the bottom is abyss, and you ain’t in the habit of fucking around with that shit. This Kill didn’t do much for you- she ran, you caught her, you left her head in little chunks. Same-old.

_Pick up the game, motherfucker. Run faster, or you’re getting an ass full of rock salt._

There was some intercession between two and three, namely by some do-gooders shoving their shit-stained noses in your business. Emerald Eyes oh-so-kindly drilled a hole in you with her rifle, Pussy Kisser tried to stand you down, and then came…

Ugh. You don’t even wanna explore the fuckery that was at work when Tavros Nitram showed his cherub-fucking face. He nearly pulled you back, he came so close to reaching your fingers and pulling you from out the maw. But what he never grasped was that the maw’s warm and cozy, and there’s plenty to do while in it. There’s power in these bones of yours, and the power only lasts while you’ve got conviction. He shook that conviction like a titan taking a step. Like you said, fuckery. You didn’t abide it, and it frankly got you surlier than ever.

_I don’t wanna hear any yelping. It’ll just make me even madder._

Thirdly was Lady Justice. She burns in your mind like an angel ablaze, her shrieky cackle flooding your ears even though it’s been a damned epoch since you heard it. Those eyes, those eyes that burn like motherfucking fire, hurting worse than a bullet. You had mad respect for the bitch, she had massive balls. Takes a real fucker to look her killer dead in his eyes and tell him she’ll drag him down with her, particularly when those eyes are defective.

And you hated it. You didn’t want The Kill to mean shit beyond The Kill, dig? You wanted to see them cower at your feet, you wanted to wait for them to beg you not to, and then you wanted to do it anyways cuz you could. That’s Power, capital P. The name of the motherfucking game.

_And I’ve got all of it, little motherfucker. Guess how much that leaves for you._

And yet Lady Justice lived up to that name, cuz she was so intent to die with grace. Made the taste in your mouth go rotten when you stuck her. Even the trophy you took sucked- a damned cane made of some weird-ass leathery stuff. You stashed it in your bag and forgot about it, it don’t serve much purpose anyways. You needed your follow-up to satisfy, else you’d just get sick of it.

You think that the Little Lion might be your masterpiece.

You stare down at her sobbing in the dirt ten yards forward. Each of her twitching extremes, arms and legs alike, is gone. You cut cut cut, cut ‘til your saw whined and spat bone dust. She shrieked, and then she screamed, and then she cried, and then she just whimpered. Her little lips keep trying to say shit, but they can’t form words good no more- you may have taken a few shots in that vicinity.

_You think this is cruel? Say it again. I’ll show you what cruel really is._

Anyways, the limbs. You didn’t see much good to be done with her legs, so those are… somewhere around here. You took real care to tie good tourniquets so she wouldn’t bleed out, but the blood’s plenty satisfying- ruby puddles beneath each leg, always growing, always hungry. The island’s starting to steal her blood, but that’s fine. Plenty to go around.

Her arms, meanwhile, came with these sexy little gloves with claws attached- stupid ass weapon, but fun for some games. The old man, he loved to get you pets and then show you what was inside them. The muscles round the belly were the ones you always liked best. The ridging of the abdominals, all nice and symmetrical. Holds true for dogs, cats, rabbits, whatever the old man wanted you to see die that month.

The Little Lion’s in great shape. All the fat’s where it should be, tightly packed away, and her belly is rock-solid. You used the foil you took from Izzy to slice her open, and then you held her open with those claws of hers. Peeled her like a banana, showing the sky what she’s got. Blood oozes from the sides, but not much- you were mad careful.

_They’ll never see a thing, motherfucker, not less you want ‘em to. And you won’t want ‘em to._

She was beyond screaming by that point. All she kept doing was sobbing this one prick’s name. “Equius.” “Equius.” “Equius.” You know what it was? It was motherfucking annoying, that’s what it was.

Once you were done, man, did your arms ache. Stung like you crammed bees in there. You figured you needed to stretch out some. Lady Luck, her eyes were on you, cuz you heard voices wandering over yonder and you went to check it out.

Lo and behold, the Spider and her Fly. Serket’s a stone-cold bitch, scary about it. You took one look in her eyes and knew she had The Kill all up in her, too. Maybe not as good as you’ve got it, but strong enough to be seen.

Egbert, now… you dunno how the kid did it, but his little beads were free of it. No taint or nothing. How’s a motherfucker spend that many ticks of the clock in this maw and not get even a little chewed up?

It pissed you the fuck off, so you figured you’d hurt him. But you were tired, and you went to finish it quickly. Not quickly enough, cuz then The Beast showed her face.

Nobody but the Old Man had The Kill stronger in their eyes. Damn, was she smoking as she wiped the floor with your sorry ass. You almost let her waste you- it’d be an honor to die to hands as red as those.

But the meat doesn’t wanna go. S’weird. You don’t see any reason to leave the maw, you just reckoned it’d gobble you up like the other motherfuckers and that’d be that. You didn’t even mind her promise to make it slow- much as you deserved, no doubt. But you saw one tiny spark of doubt and weakness, so swift that you nearly missed it.

See, that’s the difference between her and the Old Man. You’ve got no doubt The Beast lived a thousand years in that hospital bed, but she’s still a kid. Just a Baby Monster, not much different than you. The Old Man, he’s always been around. If not him, boys like him, drifting through space and crushing life out under their heels.

What this translated to was one chink in The Beast’s armor. You stabbed right for it, and that’s the only thing that saved you.

Well, that and the vest. These three shots sting, but none of them tore through Seashell’s raiment. A broken rib’s making your breaths sharp and sticky, and you lost your bat and foil, but there’s still life in these bones. You opened your shirt up and three little bros of lead were smushed all up against it.

So you return to the scene of the crime, but it ain’t just the Little Lion there. You see someone else.

Your fists, which are a bit busted up from repeatedly smashing them into Egbert, clench up. Outside the chainsaw, which ain’t exactly combat-ready, they’re all you’ve got.

But you doubt you’ll need shit. Because, see, the motherfucker who stumbled upon your masterpiece is none other than Karkat fucking Vantas.

Vantas looks like hammered shit- no walk in the park for him, though he’s not all fucked up or nothing. You seem to have got here just seconds after he did, because his angry and trusting eyes are blank with shock. He turns around and pukes out his lunch by the tree, making all these nasty retching noises. You wanna tell him to stop, but he hasn’t seen you yet, and you figure there’s no reason for him to for this tick.

_That little Vantas brat shows his face near me again, I’ll feed it to him._

He turns back to Leijon, eyes watering. “Nepeta…” That’s all he gets out before his throat closes and he pukes again. What a pussy. This time, he takes a big breath before wiping his mouth and turning around.

He leans over the side of the Little Lion, checking to see if she’s conscious. Scrappy little bitch that she is, she is. “Can you hear me? Nepeta, can you hear me?”

Her head lolls over to look at him. “…Equius?” she asks. “Is that you? You’re… you’re alive…”

“What? I’m-” Karkat stops, blinking back tears. “Nepeta, w-who did this to you?”

“It hurts really bad, Equius,” she sobs. “I don’t know why, but I can’t move and it hurts really bad…”

Karkat looks blankly at her. “I cannot… what the…” He turns around, clutching his face. “What the fuck, what the fuck! Who the hell would do this? I don’t understand! I don’t fucking get it!”

“It’s super fucking simple,” you say, figuring that this is gonna get tiresome ‘fore it gets interesting again. You walk out from the trees, hands in your pockets. “I wanted to see how much she could take.”

Karkat’s eyes go wide at the sight of you, and he scrambles to his feet. “Oh no,” Little Lion sobs, “it’s back. It’s back to hurt me.”

_Yeah, bitch. Cry. See how far that takes you._

Yeah, she gets the motherfucking dynamic, eh? “Gotta give her props for durability, best friend,” you say. “Still half-lucid with no arms or legs and her abs staring up at the sky? Damn impressive. She and the old man, man, they’d be made for one another. Now, me, I was never built to take damage, so I don’t mind mentioning that this really motherfucking hurts.” You gesture to your chest. You’ve shed your vest, it was all fucked up. Now it’s just your button-down and the armor. “How ‘bout you?”

Best Friend’s produced a slick little sickle and is holding it with trembling hands. “Ain’t gonna do shit ‘gainst me and we both are cogging that, buddy,” you say casually. “Only one purpose for that.”

“What’d that be?”

You chuckle, but it probably comes out more like a high-pitched squeal. “You really need it explained? Use that big-ass brain, motherfucker.”

Best Friend looks over at the Little Lion, his eyes weak with doubt. Always doubting himself, this guy. Never believed in himself or you or anyone, ‘cept maybe Lady Justice, and she had her tongue pressed up against the competence ceiling. “And why should I finish your work?” he whispers, trying to sound tough. “You mutilated her for no good reason, and you want me to kill her? This is one mess you can’t clean up, Gamzee.”

You’re a mess- a mistake in your design somewhere. I’m gonna set you right, long as it takes.

“Motherfucker,” you say, and you must be using your big voice cuz Best Friend recoils back. “I am a mess beyond reparation. It’s fucked, it’s gone. I got my kicks from seeing how much she could take ‘fore it was just noise, now I’m bored.”

Karkat shakes his head. “I don’t fucking buy it! I don’t buy that you did this for fun. You tell me the real reason.”

“Why should I?” you growl. “Incentivize me, motherfucker.”

He glances down again. “Fine. Fine. You tell me, and I’ll…” he swallows hard, trying to get that stone of doubt in his throat down to his belly. “I’ll do it.”

“Yeah? No fooling?” You look down at her. “Here’s my reason: I dunno. Didn’t enjoy it. Just figured it was the thing to do, and maybe it’d… make it less loud.” You tap the side of your head. “All that screaming in here, it makes it hard to think straight. Gotta apply myself, yeah? Well that took a solid hour to do. She was already a dumb beast when I started, so it’s not like it mattered.”

Little Lion’s babbling softly into the dirt now. Blood loss has gotta be hounding her. “I mean, what does it change in the big picture? Couple of minutes of pain ‘fore she dies, how’s that any different from taking her head off? Both leave her the same dead.” You spit. “Fast death, slow death, that and a caegar’ll buy you some bubblegum. They both leave you just as dead. Enough pain and the meat forgets about it anyways. She ain’t crying cuz it hurts, she’s crying cuz she’s already gone and these are some echoes. The last couple days of her sad little life sucked, so now she’s all mopey. Ending it’s doing her a motherfucking favor.”

You look at Karkat, his drawn face and jaggedly rising chest. “So what are you waiting for? We had an agreement.”

He stares at you, disgust painted on his face, before bending over The Little Lion’s body. “I’m sorry,” he says to her. “You were always one of the good ones. I’d save you if I could, but I don’t think you- or any of us- can be. This is the closest thing to kindness I can give you. I wish I could do more.”

Nepeta’s eyes trail up to Best Friend. Somehow, ‘gainst all fate, she smiles. “Thank you,” she says in a papery hush. “I love you.”

_I’m only doing this because I love you._

He presses the sickle to her throat and opens it. There’s barely any blood, since most of it’s already in the dirt, and she’s gone before you can count to ten.

Karkat stands up, glaring at you. “So now what?” he asks. “Are you gonna torture and kill me, too?”

“Considering it,” you say. “Considering it real fucking hard, best friend.” You take a step towards him.

Here it comes, then. He’s gonna get spooked, back up, maybe beg you, then he’s gonna bolt. Then you’ll chase him, and fucked up as your body is, you don’t doubt you’ll catch him. After that… dunno. Likely just knock his head in with your hands, or wrestle that sickle from him. You got options.

But he ain’t moving. He doesn’t budge an inch. He just keeps looking at you, eyes narrowed. “Gamzee.. you fucking dick. You massive, dripping, awful-smelling wart-infested dick, what in holy rainbows bursting from my asshole is your problem?!” He’s shouting now, in his Best Friendy fashion, throwing his hands around like he’s bothered by flies. “I cannot fucking believe that you would go giggling off the deep end and dash that stupid-ass haircut on the rocks just for the sake of getting out of here alive! All those days where I had to grab you and hold you before you did some atrocious horse crap and got yourself stuck on a spit, and for what? You went batshit anyways!”

You just stare at him, at a loss for words. He’s not running. He ain’t even thinking about it.

“I got a goddamn B on our Math Final last year because I was so busy talking you down from the top of the skyscraper, you lanky pencil-assed stack of shit poorly arranged into a vaguely human shape!” Karkat barely even seems to know you’re there, the way he always is when he does this shit. “Ugh, and for what? For fucking what? For you to play amateur surgeon with poor Nepeta over here and have me do your fucking dirty work? You are such a shitlord! I am so pissed off with you!”

You can’t help it- you begin laughing. Hard. Really hard. You can feel a surge of hurt with every belly chuckle that reverberates through your broken rib, and you cover your eyes with your hand. “Aw fuck… aw fuck man, you are still hilarious,” you manage to get out.

“There isn’t a shred of humor here, douchedrinker,” Karkat spits.

When you finally manage to get your giggles under control, you levy a hard glare at him. “This ain’t my blood, motherfucker! I’ve killed four kids now, nearly made it more, and you’re standing there giving me the same-old lecture. You think that’ll save you from me? From what I’ve become?”

“Me? Since when, you blithering idiot, have I given a fuck about what happens to me?” Karkat starts walking towards you. “Terezi’s dead. Kanaya’s dead. Sollux is really dead. Aradia and Tavros, Eridan and Feferi, Dave and Jade, Equius and now Nepeta, they’re all dead. Only friends I’ve got left in the world are John, and fuck knows where he is, and you. And maybe you are gone, and the guy standing in front of me isn’t the same Gamzee who made me wish I could shit out my brain so I wouldn’t have to listen to his drivel anymore.” He’s crossed the gap between the two of you. Karkat Vantas, all five and a half feet of him, is looking up at you with not a trace of fear in his eyes. “But you’re still my responsibility, like you’ve always been. I promised to help you, and right now, helping you is stopping you from hurting anyone else.”

"And how do you plan to do that, motherfucker? You gonna fight me?" you ask, staring down at him. 

"Fight you? Fuck no, you’d slaughter me," he says. "I’ll do better than fight you. I’m gonna watch you, the whole time, and I won’t ever let you leave my sight. You are now under One Hundred Percent Vantas Lockdown Mode. You wanna pick your nose or scratch your ass, you gotta get my fucking permission first. And you sure as seven sailing shits won’t be laying your hands on anyone I don’t give you the okay to!"

S’weird. You didn’t think about it ‘til now, usually when you saw a motherfucker you waited for your moment and then ripped ‘em apart. But here’s Best Friend, presenting his soft and fragile body to you, and you aren’t moving.

_It’s cuz you’re weak. You like to play Big Man, but once shit gets tough you look for someone you can lean on. Makes me sick, motherfucker._

Feels like the Old Man might’ve been right When you next speak, it’s a low murmur. “You wanna… tame me? You think I’m gonna trust you, all the way out here?” Here it comes- he’s going to go for you with mean little sickle and try to cut you to ribbons, and you’ll break his ass in half if he-

He drops the fucking sickle into the fucking dirt.

“It’s either that or you kill me. And if you’ve got the intention of killing me, then just get the fuck on with it already,” he says. “For the love of fucking God.”

You don’t move. What do you do? Kill him, right? Smart. Only one winner. So not even smart,  _necessary_. You could make it fast, grab his head and twist it like a screw. Or slow, like you did Leijon.

Or you could not do it. You don’t…

You don’t really wanna.

Before you can make up your mind, Karkat moves for you. His arms wrap around yours and trap them to your sides. So this is it, then- his play. He’s gonna try to take you down, and you’ll kill him before he-

Wait. This doesn’t hurt.

Oh.

The motherfucker is giving you a hug.

You don’t do shit back for a long moment, just stand there like a statue while Vantas presses his damp, cold body around yours. “I’m so sorry for not being there for you,” he says. “I could’ve stopped you from doing what you did, like I’ve always done. All those people you hurt… because of me.”

You snort. “You talk like you were guiding my hand. S’no one’s fault but me. That said…” You pull your arms out and hug him back. “Glad you did find me. Don’t let me hurt anyone else, alright?”

"No, you won’t. I promise."

Bang.

There’s a crack from somewhere behind you, the loudest noise you have ever heard. A sudden warmth fills the back of your head and your vision goes cross, then blurry, then it just goes.

You get mighty weak in the knees.

Your weight crumbles beneath you and you fall, touching the strange warmth on your forehead. Damn, that hurts like a bitch and a half. Best Friend’s yelling something at you, he looks awful distraught, but you can’t really tell much else.

You figure you’ll rest up and consider this shit later. You shut your eyes and sleep.

* * *

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you have just failed another friend.

Sollux couldn’t take it. Terezi went berserk. Nepeta was gone long before you found her. Each one, you failed in turn. You might as well have killed them yourself, and in Nepeta’s case, you did. You were okay with dying, you eventually decided, so long as you could save one- just one- friend.

And you really thought you might have finally done it. Gamzee, consumed by his madness and beyond redemption. You were going to stop him from hurting anyone else. But now Gamzee Makara lies limp in your arms, a crimson hole born through his skull. Thick red blood drips down, and brain and skull and fiber obscure the path, but you can see the dirt through the hole.

You look up at the shooter. It’s a stunningly beautiful girl. “Hello, baby boy,” says Simone in a low, soft voice. “Thank you for the distraction.”

She… she’s untouched. Her uniform is clean, just a bit wrinkled. No blood, no dirt, nothing. Her face is unblemished, her eyes as cool and calm as ever. She’s suffered nothing.

You don’t say anything. You just sit there, Gamzee’s corpse still in your arms. Her gun, the barrel smoking, is now pointed straight at you. “I was wondering what I’d do about that vest,” Simone continues. “A beast like that is too dangerous to engage, even with my pistol. I doubt I’d have been able to sneak up on it if you weren’t chewing its ear off.”

“I… he was…” You try to form the words with your mouth. “But I was saving him…”

“Saving? Baby boy, you can’t save anyone. The best you’ll ever do is die gracefully, which I will mercifully allow you.” She smiles, and a chill runs to the tips of your fingers. You never saw it until now.

Her eyes are empty.

“Wait.” You try to figure out a way out of this, but you need to buy some time. “Answer me something. How are you any different from him?”

A finely plucked eyebrow goes up. “Pardon me?”

“When I looked into Gamzee’s eyes, I saw… nothing. Just a void, one that went all the way through. That’s when I knew he wasn’t a man anymore, not really. He was an animal- a vicious and rabid beast that just so happened could talk. And when I look in your eyes, Simone, I see the same exact thing.”

“How am I different?” Simone chuckles. “Very well. The difference between me and your friend there is that I know exactly what I’m doing. I am not doing this out of desperation, dear. This game is just that to me- sport. I’m playing, and I’m having a grand time. Were I to actually dedicate myself to victory, then you’d all have died long ago. When one hunts their prey, they must give it a sporting chance to fight or flee.”

"You didn’t give Gamzee that," you say.

"Ahh, didn’t I? Were it not for your distraction, baby boy, he assuredly would have heard my approach. I could have snapped your neck in the treeline very easily. Instead, I let you distract him." Simone paused. "In the end stages of the game, which we are in, I won’t allow my confidence in my victory to blind me. He was a dangerous foe, and although I’m sure I could kill him, I need to conserve strength and resources for my other, remaining foes. If he rejected you, broke your head as he did so many other poor young ladies, then he would have gotten the pleasure of looking me in the eye when he died. Instead, your friend showed weakness and I slew him like a dog." Simone cocked the hammer of her gun. "You, though… I respect your attempt to defeat him with words instead of physicality. I’ll grant you a swift and worthy death."

Yeah. That sounds okay. You’ve failed all your friends anyways. You guess you better let her shoot you.

Wait. Not quite.

You shout and push all your weight up. You pull up Gamzee’s corpse, limp and heavy, and toss it at Simone.  She’s taken by surprise, but recovers quickly and takes a shot. It explodes through Gamzee’s body and hits where you were sitting.

Luckily, you’ve already scrambled to your feet and made for the trees.

You run in a zig-zag, because one time Terezi told you that it was the best way to avoid bullets. You run as far and fast as your body will carry you, long after the gunshots that chase you cease.

Simone is right. You haven’t saved anyone. And you probably never will.

But you might as well die trying.

END OF CHAPTER TWENTY

 


	31. The Super Simple Truth

Your name is Vriska Serket, and you should not be fucking blushing.

You dunno what it is. You’re not even a virgin or anything like that, and even if you weren’t, you’ve seen some fucked-up shit this past couple days. A boy without his shirt off shouldn’t do jack for you.

And yet here you are, wrapping bandages around a shirtless John, and you can feel the warmth in your cheeks. It’s double horseshit, is what it is. Gritting your teeth, you decide that you’ll focus on your work. “Have I missed any spots?” you ask, pressing the adhesive down onto the small of his back.

“No, I- ow. No, I think that’s all of them.” John rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck. “Thanks a bunch.”

“No problem, dude.” You pause. “You, uh, you’re more muscular than I thought you’d be.”

He’s not, like, built or anything. There isn’t much in the way of definition- it’s just raw, unrefined power. You knew John was a pretty solid guy, but it never really hit you until now.

“Heh… not that it did me any good.” John winces as he reaches for his shirt. “Gamzee still beat me stupid. Would’ve been a lot worse if it wasn’t for you girls’ help. Looks like I owe you all my lives once again.”

“Oh, shut up,” you say. “I’d love to take all the credit for scaring that douche off, believe me, but it was those two over there who did the heavy lifting. All I did was hold the collar tracker and lead Rose to you guys.”

You gesture to Rose and Pandora, on the other side of the room. Pandora is sitting on the bed, her hand peaked like a visor above the nasty black cut. Damn, that looks gross. Rivers of red flow down onto her hand and onto her face. Sitting behind her is Rose, working methodically to wrap a roll of adhesive around her head. Pandora’s hair is getting in the way, but Lalonde’s doing an alright job of it. The cut keeps bleeding through the adhesive, but after nine or ten wraps, you can barely see the blood anymore.

“I think you did plenty,” says John, who pulled his shirt on when you weren’t looking. “I might have… not fought as hard as I did if you hadn’t been there, Vriska.”

“Heh. Well then, I guess I’ll take all the credit!” You turn around and face the corner. “Hear that, hidden camera? Us beating Gamzee, that was all me! No thanks necessary, just pay it forward.”

“Please don’t shout,” says Pandora. “I have an incredibly throbbing headache.” The top of her head has been mummified- everything above her eyes has been wrapped up. Only some snow colored hair in the back sticks out.

In her hand is a tiny yellow bottle of pills. Pandora pours out a small pile onto her palm and swallows them, then smiles. “Ah… perfect. Fuck people trying to kill me, the worst part of this game? Painkiller addiction withdrawal.”

“The wound stinks,” Rose observes. “What was your sword covered in?”

“Just mud. Good tactic, actually- even if they live through being cut, they get an infection that weakens them while you chase them down.” Pandora smiles grimly. “F’course, now it’s getting used against me, so maybe it wasn’t as good a strategy as I thought it was.”

John bites his lip. “So… will you be able to fight?”

“It depends,” says Pandora. “I’m going to need a lot of rest, that’s for sure. I’ll likely be sick when I wake up tomorrow, but how sick is really up in the air. The best we can do is clean the wound, give me something to drink, and let me out of watch duty. I think I should be able to swing a sharp piece of metal at soft bags of water- I mean our classmates- tomorrow.”

You stare at Pandora, fascinated by her. This girl who dispatched Tavros like he was nothing and made Gamzee Makara look like a flat-footed chump has got absolutely no menace to her- not as far as you can tell, anyways, and being a badass, you’d like to think that you’re pretty solid at detecting badass.

But when you stare in her eyes, past that tired and harried look, you can see… nothing. You’ve seen those eyes before- on corpses.

“Something wrong?”

“What?” You blink. Who is talking?

“I asked if something’s wrong?” says Pandora. “You’re staring at me.”

“Oh. Oh shit, sorry!” You chuckle. Careless, Vriska. Careful with that. “I was just spacing out, wondering what we’re gonna do in case we get hit overnight without you.”

“Die, most likely.” Pandora shrugs. “Considering who’s left.”

Rose closes her eyes. “Ah… you’re right. The only players left besides those in this room are Gamzee, Karkat, Nepeta, Simone, and Slick and his cronies. We can safely assume that Gamzee will not attack again, he’s wounded and we outnumber him significantly. Nepeta is most likely dead. I think we can dismiss Karkat, how he has lived this long is nothing short of a miracle. That only leaves Simone, who is likely the most dangerous soul on the island, and Slick’s friends, who can match our numbers and overwhelm our armaments.”

“Tomorrow… we’ll have to fight them both, won’t we?” asks John softly. “Rose, how are we gonna beat them?”

“I imagine we will kill them by shooting them with our pistols.” Rose’s eyes trail to her sword- that silver rapier, the blade pristine but the grip stained with all sorts of fluids you don’t want to think about. “Or otherwise. If there’s one good thing about the wound you sustained, PM, it’s that it shows that even the island’s best fighter is not without weaknesses. Simone and Slick are no different.”

“There’s a game I used to play where you fought monsters on Mars,” you say. “If one of the monsters accidentally shot another one, then they would start shooting each other and you could just shut up and watch and kill whoever won. Why don’t we just let them kill each other? Considering Simone took out your eye, Lalonde, and tried to give me a haircut with her gun, I don’t see us taken her on going well. Slick and his buddies, they’re realer than real and harder than hard. Even if we beat them, I doubt we’ll walk away looking good- except for me, because I can somehow make ‘filthy, bruised, covered in gore’ look sexy.”

PM laughs, then clutches her head wound. John shifts his gaze away uncomfortably. Rose’s face doesn’t budge. “So we just stay here and wait, then?” she asks.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. This place is safe, there’s food and shit. Wait long enough and I guarantee they’ll fuck each other up good.” You smile.

John interjects himself. “Hey, um, Rose, didn’t this happen before?

“Pardon?”

“When your cousin… when Roxy played.” John looks at the floor. “I, uh, I watched some of it, actually. There were these two girls- one looked kind of like you, Vriska. And Scratch came on and said that since there was a lull, and nobody had killed anybody in almost a day, they had thirty minutes to kill at least one classmate or they’d all have their collars explode. So the one girl, she shot her friend.” John swallowed. “And then she stood over her and listened to her beg for mercy, and then she shot her again. And that was it.”

Rose stares at him for a moment. “I didn’t watch that Program, John. I had little interest in seeing my cousin suffer like that.”

"Oh, right. Sorry." John looks down.

“I remember that incident you’re talking about, John,” says Pandora. “Not a super uncommon occurrence, honestly. Unless you think Slick and his friends will self-destruct and kill each other, in which case it’ll fall to us to take out a person in this room.” She looks around. “Some of you might be alright with that, but seeing as how I, the wounded one who could easily kill all three of you if I regain my strength, am the most likely target, I’m not. I’d rather we go on the offensive.”

“I concur,” says Rose. “We won’t turn on each other. Not until it is only us left, anyways.”

“Rose!” John exclaims, his tone harsh. “Don’t say that, the fuck’s the matter with you?”

“Are we continuing to refuse to face facts, John?” asks Rose. “I understand the denial in the earlier hours, but the sun has set and risen and set again since this game has begun. In that time, you’ve broken a boy’s hand, witnessed the deaths of two of your classmates, found out that your closest friend since childhood is dead and never said goodbye to you, and were nearly skewered to death by a madman. There is only one way off this island, and that is by being the final member of the class to draw breath.” Rose’s voice is even and calm. “Everyone but you has grasped this already. I am not expressing a desire to kill or betray any of you, I am expressing the eventual necessity of it. You have the same necessity directed at me. Once we dispense of Slick and Simone and the other hanger-ons, it will be however many of us are left standing fighting for the prize of continued existence. You may be willing to die for myself or Vriska or even PM, and that is a noble and honorable choice, but it is also a foolish one that I thought would have been driven out of the gene pool long ago.” Rose sniffs. “You cannot save anyone in that manner. You can only doom yourself for no purpose or gain.”

John just stares at Rose, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open. He stands up, turns on his heel, and walks to the doorway. “I’ll take third watch,” he says. “Whenever that is, come wake me.”

He leaves.

You look at Rose. “Damn, Lalonde,” you say. “Just… damn.”

“He’s never liked being told what the room was thinking,” says Rose. “And I will take second watch. I would like some rest before I proceed with my watch. That leaves you with first watch, Vriska.”

“Bullshit! I didn’t get to choose, and nobody even tried to kill you today!” You point at your busted lip.

“Sorry,” says PM. “Seniority rules around here. Consider this your hazing. Now then, the two of you get out of my room and let me go to sleep. The painkillers should be kicking in soo-” she stops in mid-word, and then her eyes start to drift close. “Wow, I’m tired.”

You and Rose get up and leave the room while Pandora lies down in the bed and closes her eyes. Rose shuts the door behind her. “Not good,” you hear her mutter. “Not good at all.”

“Ah, shut up and stop worrying,” you say. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Anyone tries to get in, we’ll kick their ass.”

Rose nods. “That isn’t what I’m worried about. Wake me in three hours.”

“Yep!”

* * *

Your name is Vriska Serket, and you have to reach a decision.

You’re sitting here, trying to figure out your next move. Everyone else is asleep- it’s been over an hour since John stormed out. Now the whole game rests on your shoulders, like it’s always meant to. What happens next, it’s up to you.

Like always, someone’s smiling down on you. The luck of the draw is yours- every encounter you’ve had so far, you’ve survived through it. Alright, maybe you overestimated yourself a bit. A really teeny bit. So small it can’t be seen and really not even noticeable whatsoever. But it’s something.

You aren’t the best player on the island, you don’t think. You thought that your determination and quick wits and luck, which you are currently running a monopoly on, would bring you to victory. Most importantly, you knew it was a game- a hardcore, tough, scary-as-shit game. Aradia, she got it too, but unlike you, she knew that playing would get her ass killed. She went out like a bitch, but they were her own terms and that’s better than nothing.

It hasn’t been easy since then. You had never seen someone die before, and shooting Aradia dead like that… well, cool and badass as you are, it shook you some. Your encounter with Terezi only made things worse- she has a real talent for getting in your head, and this bruise she left you with is a constant reminder of what she wanted to do to you.

Wait. She had a real talent for getting in your head. Terezi’s dead now- you dunno how or by who, but she’s gone. Poof. Your best friend since you could walk will never speak or cackle or inappropriately lick things ever again. There is no more Terezi Pyrope.

Shit. That’s weird to think about.

With Kanaya, it’s easier to accept. You got to watch her die, and slow too so there was no doubt. You’re not too miffed about it- she had the fucking gall to lay her hands on you. Terezi got away with it, but you wouldn’t let that happen again. No fucking way.

Then came Tavros. You would’ve shot him, no doubt- you don’t have any give in you. Only one winner, it’s super simple. Not shooting him would be a rookie mistake, made by some punk-ass who’s not serious about the game. You hate that shit.

But somehow, from out of nowhere, Nitram finally grew a pair of balls and stood up to you. Granted, he did it at the least opportune moment possible, but you can’t help but feel a little proud of him. You always wanted to toughen him up, and you guess you finally did- with a little help from this game. You know that it’s made you stronger and better, but Tavros? Heh. Who’dve thunk.

Of course, you would have found a way out of there somehow even without the intervention of these three. Pandora, she’s creepy as shit. Her eyes are pale and blank, like a pair of old tombstones. Lalonde… you’ve never liked her, honestly, and the stick up her ass seems to have been rammed another two feet in for good measure. You think you’d like to kill her.

Probably would have done it by now, were it not for John.

Man. You always liked John- he was a good guy, honest and straightforward. Most boys are so slippery, always thinking about something they aren’t saying. Usually it was your skirt and how they might see you without it, but you doubt fucking you has ever crossed John’s mind. He just wants to be a good friend, and when Terezi left you behind and Kanaya gave up on you, he was pretty much the only good friend you had left. Didn’t deter him. Whenever someone talked shit about you, he stood up and treated you like you were worth defending.

But he’s so fucking naive, it makes you wanna hurl. Lalonde’s little speech should’ve showed him that he can’t hope to leave here alive unless he kills at least one of you- and soon. He’s no fool, he’s gotta know that. You guess he just is hopeful that if he wants it to be false hard enough then it’ll become false by force of will. Sad and desperate, but when that’s the only choice left, what are you gonna do?

No, you don’t think you can kill him right now. You aren’t gonna take the life of the only person to treat you like a human being, and you aren’t just talking about the horrible time you’ve spent on this rock. He loves and cares about you, and he said he’d die for you.

So it’s not just emotion. It’s smart, too, to spare him. Because then he’ll follow you, he’ll fight for you, he’ll take a bullet for you. And when he lies there dying, his sacrifice having cleared the way for your victory, then you can let him die happy. Because he’ll have saved you, his best, last, only friend.

Sounds good, then. The original plan was to kill all three of them in their sleep and then leave, but this is even better. Kill Pandora, which’ll be as easy as you are after a couple drinks since she’s hurt and drugged out. Then find Lalonde, shoot her down (she doesn’t even know you have a gun, the dumb bitch), and then find John and tell him what’s what. After that, it’ll be smooth sailing to the finish line. Your winner of the 44th Program, Vriska Serket. Your face on t-shirts, billboards, DVD covers… you can live with that.

You study your revolver- the first chance you got, you buried it to the bottom of your bag and put a heap of other shit on it. Too risky hiding it in your clothes. After this, though, you’ll have two more pistols, plus Rose’s collar tracker and a couple swords. Not bad as far as armaments go.

Well, no time like right fucking now. You stand up, revolver in hand, and start ascending the spiral staircase of the lighthouse. John is asleep in the other room here on the first floor, while Pandora is in the makeshift infirmary and Rose’s room is above that. Perfect.

You creep your way up the infirmary stairs, each one making a loud creak as you go. Wait, no they aren’t. It’s just your imagination, Vriska, calm down. The stairs are no louder than ever. You make it to the top and slide the door open.

Pandora is sleeping, her eyes squeezed shut. She’s stripped off her vest in the heat- it’s lying in a bunch next to the bed. You walk towards her, taking care with each step to make as little noise as possible. You pick the vest up- it won’t make a perfect silencer, but it’s not bad.

You ball the fabric up with your free hand and push it into the barrel of your revolver. Take aim, cock the hammer, pull the trigger. It’s super simple.

Pandora’s eyes fly open. “Finally,” she says.

It’s all you can do not to stumble back in surprise. “The fuck?” you hiss. “You’re awake? I thought you had pilled yourself out.”

“Cheeked ‘em,” she says. “I haven’t felt pain in a very long time. That was a show- I was wondering if it’d be you or Rose. Looks like it’s you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Let’s not be stupid, Vriska- I knew somebody was going to try to kill me tonight.” Her voice is weak and shaky. “I also knew I wouldn’t be able to stop them. And that I didn’t really want to, either. So go on.”

“Wait.” You stop. You know that face, that voice. “You’re… you’re Penny fucking Majors, aren’t you?”

“Caught me.” She smiles. “I used to be called that. Not too many people recognize me, though- I guess my face is really different now, and it helps that I got three inches taller and my boobs are now like twice as big.”

“Holy shit,” you say. “Dude, you’re a monster. How am I still breathing?”

“You think I like being that person?” Pandora asks quietly. “You think that feeling so numb that I could rarely muster the energy to speak is fun? Do you think that I enjoyed coming home every day to a dingy little apartment with no family to greet me? Vriska, I wish every day that I had died alongside Jack during my session. Strange as it may sound, I feel blessed to be here again. It means I can finally die.”

“So why haven’t you just thrown yourself off a tall building?” you ask. Your gun is still trained on her, but you still hardly feel safe- this is  Penny Majors you’re talking to here. “Too scared?”

“I had something to do, actually. A letter to deliver.” Pandora shrugs. “You might remember it from my session. Will said he needed his little sister to see it, and he was the only person I ever knew who truly cared about me. I couldn’t let someone so good and honest’s only legacy be me, an emotionless killer who feels more home burying a sword into a crying child’s head than she does in her own bed. I had to deliver it, no matter the price.”

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit.

“So when I got here, I saw a solution. Step one: find someone like me.” Pandora sits up some, moving her forehead closer to your pistol. “Everyone’s got… something deep down. A monster, buried under so much darkness and wrapped in so many chains that some people go their whole lives without ever glimpsing it. I met that monster once, and his name was Jack Noir. I didn’t kill him- I feel him with every beat of my heart. I think in his voice, and when I dream, I am him, stabbing Will to death over and over again. When I arrived here, I knew that I had to be that monster for someone. It’s the only way to survive this game. But I wouldn’t oppose them, or try to kill them. I’d mentor them, I’d earn their trust and show them what was necessary to live. Then, when the time was right and I was vulnerable, they would come to kill me. And if they could beat me, then I’d know I had someone who could do what I never was able to and deliver the letter. I would die, finally, and Will’s last wish would get fulfilled. Everyone wins.” Pandora pauses. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not. I’m not, shut up!” You wipe your eyes frantically. “I don’t give a shit about your life story, Majors, I just want to fucking win! And to do that, you have to die!”

“You’re a wrench in the works, Vriska. I had chosen Rose for this purpose- she was more practical than Kanaya, more malleable than Terezi, more ruthless than Jade- but she wasn’t too practical like Equius, or too malleable like Aradia, or too ruthless like Gamzee. I considered them all in turn. Simone, I took one look at her and saw another Jack. Slick and his gang aren’t much better. It came down to you and Rose, and I chose her. She’s smarter and more charismatic than you, not to mention bigger and stronger.”

“Oh yeah? If she’s so smart, how come it’s me who’s gonna kill her?”

“You haven’t, and you won’t. She is your better, because that’s your problem, Vriska- you’re not a monster. You wish you could be cold like me or her, but you aren’t. You bleed emotion, and you wish that you’d be loved and accepted.” Pandora grimaces as she presses her head against the balled-up vest that you’re using as a silencer. “I know, because you haven’t shot me yet. And I don’t think you will.”

“Shut up! I’ll do it right now!” Did you shout that? You think you might have, fuck fuck fuck. Don’t lose your cool, Serket. Just put a bolt of lead between her sad, empty eyes and end it.

Go on, Vriska. Do it. Fucking do it, come on.

“Your hand is shaking.”

The fuck is this? You shot Kanaya no sweat, and Aradia too. Hell, you kind of liked the two of them. You don’t have any reason to not shoot this chick, so why aren’t you shooting her?

Oh.

“You… you’re just like me,” you say. “But… farther along, aren’t you? Even if I win, I’ll… I’ll be like you.”

“There is no winner.” Pandora closes her eyes. “Get on with it.”

No. You won’t give her the satisfaction. With a snarl, you turn the gun around and grip the barrel. You rear it back and slam it into her mouth.

There’s a clacking noise as teeth scatter across the ground. Pandora falls back, blood slowly pooling around her mouth. Sure enough, though, there’s no pain on her face. She just looks happy to not be conscious.

There isn’t even a point in killing her.

When you shot Kanaya, you annihilated her- but the body didn’t go for like five minutes. There were choked noises of agony emanating from her as she desperately tried to breathe with a hole in her throat. That, that wasn’t life. It was some kind of… pre-death. A formality.

Come to think of it, that almost always happens, doesn’t it? Sure, there are instant deaths- being blown up or whatever- but most of the time, people’s minds are destroyed at least a few seconds before their bodies are. Sometimes more.

And that’s what this game is. You all died when they gassed you and left you on this island. You are all dead, and this all has just been one absurdly long lead-up to it.

You close the door in a stupor, then look up when you hear footsteps.

“Vriska. That pistol in your hands must be your real weapon.”

Rose. You instinctively stick your gun up at her, only to find that she’s beaten you to it. Her gun is pointed at your head, and there’s no way she’ll miss.

“…How much did you hear?” you ask.

“Most of it. I figured you’d make your move tonight, so I didn’t bother sleeping.” Rose’s face is bathed in shadows. “I don’t feel very tired, despite a harrowing day. Odd. But then, I was curious to find out precisely what PM was up to, and you drew that out of her.”

“So we’re all dead, then. Win or lose.”

“Depends. Her sample size is limited to just herself.” Rose pauses. “In any case, I will have to see for myself if she’s right. And there’s someone I want to speak to back home.” She begins to walk towards you.

You don’t know what to say, but you start walking backwards to keep her away from you.. “I… Rose, I don’t know what to do.”

“Are you hoping for a sympathetic ear from me? You were planning to kill me not five minutes ago.” Rose stares at you as she strides forward. “I wish I could say I loathe you, but I don’t. I feel nothing for you. It’s as if you don’t exist to me.”

You grab your hand to steady it, but it’s hard. “We can’t all be this horrible, can we? You’re dead, Rose. You still move and talk, but you’re just gone now. And if Pandora’s right, then… I’ll be too, soon. We’ll be like her- wishing we were dead but unable to die. We’ll have killed all our friends for the rest of our lives to be a living hell.”

You feel your foot almost step into thin air. The edge of the hallway- any further back and you’re going down the stairs. Then Rose has the advantage, and she’ll shoot you, and you’ll die.

But no. That can’t be right.

“I don’t want to die. I want to live, and you know something? You know what?” You feel something surge in your chest. “That won’t happen to me! I won’t let this game kill me, I won’t even let it scratch me. Because I’m stronger than it, and stronger than Pandora, and stronger than you. I can’t be beaten or broken, and I’ll kill anyone who tries.”

“…I stand corrected. I do feel something for you, Vriska. I pity you.”

“Shut up shut up _shut up_ , you condescending cunt! You’re just mad because for all your skill, Lalonde, you just came face to face with someone a million times more badass than yourself. And I’m going to kick your ass!” Suddenly, all shudders and hesitation has been purged from your body. You are Vriska fucking Serket, and you won’t ever lose. Not even once.

You bellow and throw yourself forward, outstretching your hands for Rose’s gun. She’s taken by surprise, and you hear the world split as she takes a wild shot that misses you. Your free hand closes around her wrist while you try to point your pistol at her, but Rose’s hand bats yours aside and your shot goes wide.

Lalonde’s a solid half foot taller than you, so it probably isn’t very smart to go toe-to-toe with her. But on the ground, her size and reach will work against her in this narrow hallway. You shove your weight forward, catching her in the stomach with your bony shoulder. With a heave, you pull Rose’s leg out from under her. She grabs a handful of your hair and the two of you fall to the floor in a heap.

Rose fights like a wildcat, but she wasn’t lying- she is tired. Yeah, okay, both Kanaya and Tavros got the better of you, but this is different. You have nothing but focus to win this fight, to beat Lalonde into the floor and put two in her head. You swing your gun for her, trying to smash it into her body while avoiding her doing the same thing to you. She’s bigger and stronger than you, that’s evident, but she has one major weakness: a massive blind spot. She can’t see shit out of her right eye.

So you stay to that side, darting to the right whenever she turns to face you. Her graceful movements are compromised, her hand sloppily flies out in an attempt to grab you and you avoid it. You get to a kneeling position and throw your weight into Rose’s arm, pinning it to the ground. Her gun- it’s right there.

You open your mouth and grind your teeth down onto Rose’s wrist. She grunts in pain and takes your hair again, trying to wrench you off of her. You hold on for dear life, even as a tuft of hair is ripped free and you feel scalp come with it.

It burns, but you separate yourself from the pain, sinking your teeth in deeper and deeper. Finally, with a cry, Rose lets her pistol go, and it skitters away.

That’s it, then. Both of you must know the super simple truth now. You’ve won.

You point your revolver up at Rose, but she grabs your wrist and slams it into the wall. Blood is trickling down from the bite wound onto her elbow. You look at her face- fear and desperation.

Good. As it should be. Snarling, you throw your free hand at her face and start clawing at her wounded eye. Your finger finds its way into the damaged socket and starts rending and tearing all the soft flesh it can, and Rose howls in pain. You grin and-

A pair of arms like vices lock around your waist and pull you backwards, away from Rose. Before you can even react, the arms have, with tremendous force, flung you in the air.

And down the stairs.

You manage to avoid hitting your head, but it’s a long way down. You land awkwardly on your wrist and feel it twist and snap, then hit the small of your back which sends jolts of anguish through your body, and lastly your shoulder, which jams backwards and renders your arm unusable.

You lie there in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, groaning from a half dozen pains that weren’t there before. With considerable effort, you look up at the heavy footsteps coming down the stairs.

It’s John. Hammer in hand, with the strangest look on his face. He sees you lying there and rushes down towards you to help.

“John-” you say, before he brings the hammer down into your eye.

You feel your skull shatter with impact. It’s a tricky feeling to describe- the feeling of a crack changing the shape of your face. All vision from your left eye just goes, like it never let you see shit in the first place. You try to get a hand up to make him stop, but you barely have time to move before a second hammer blow comes in, crushing and malforming your head further. He’s shouting something.

It gets so fuzzy after that.

You just know the hammer coming down, time and time again, onto your face and head. You can’t get a hand up to protect yourself before another savage blow comes down, and soon enough your only motions are convulsions every time the John strikes you again and again and again. What in the hell is he shouting?

You couldn’t form words even if your lips were intact. The last thing you feel before utter cold engulfs your universe is your fingers closing around something thin, hard, and plastic. A pair of glasses, maybe?

They snap when the hammer comes down to hit you again. Your vision fails and you feel what must be your life leave your body.

But before you go, there is one moment of perfect clarity where you see John’s face: blood-soaked, with rage and terror and desperation pouring out through those big, honest eyes. You can tell what he’s been screaming this whole time.

“Stop hurting Rose! Stop hurting Rose! Stop hurting Rose! Stop hurting Rose! Stop hurting Rose! Stop hurting Rose! Stop hurting Rose! _Stop hurting Rose!_ ”

* * *

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and she is most certainly dead. You’ve descended the stairs to greet John at the side of the stairwell. Vriska sliced your wrist open with her teeth and reaggravated your injured eye, but considering what just happened to her, you don’t think you should be complaining.

The entire left side of Vriska’s head has been caved in. John’s tiny little claw hammer crushed her skull to jelly, displacing her nose and tearing her lips half off her face. Brain oozes through the fragments of what was once a cranium and out of the hole where half an ear hangs. The right side, meanwhile, is untouched save for blood spatter. Vriska’s eye is frozen in an expression of perfect confusion and terror.

And sadness too, you think.

The only reason he stopped is because the hammerhead came off and is now laying on the floor. John drops the hammer’s handle with a heavy thud and quickly backpedals away from his handiwork. He doesn’t take his eyes off Vriska, though. You put a hand on his shoulder as soon as he’s in reach, turning him to face you.

He’s crying.

Thick, heavy tears roll down his face, mixing with Vriska’s fresh blood as they both drop to the floor. His chest is rising and falling hysterically. You clench your fists, only to find that you’re completely unarmed. John is much stronger than you.

But he isn’t going to hurt you, you don’t think. “John… what you were shouting…”

“Are you okay?” he asks, trying to keep his eyes open as they blur with tears. His glasses lay broken at Vriska’s side. “Did-did-did she hurt you?”

“I will be alright, because of you. Thank you for saving me, John.”

“S-saved you?” John looks at you with confusion, then at Vriska, then back at you. “But I haven’t saved you… because we’re both dead. We’re both dead like Dave and J-jade and V-v-vriska and everyone else. All dead. I don’t… I d-don’t understand. _I don’t understand!_ ”

And he throws himself at you, his arms wrapping around you and pushing you into a bone-rattling embrace. John buries his head in your narrow shoulder, and he begins to sob. Howling, racking sobs free of hope or consolation. The dying pangs of an animal. “ _I d-d-don’t understand, Rose!_ ” he manages through the weeping. “ _It doesn’t make sense! Why is this h-happening to us? What did we d-d-do? P-please tell me! Please!_ ”

After a moment, you embrace him back. You rest your head on his broad shoulder and hold him as tightly as he’s holding you. His tears soak through your uniform. “I don’t know, John. I don’t know.”

END OF CHAPTER TWENTY ONE


	32. Crescendo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From this chapter forward, art will have to be added at a later date. Very sorry about that, but it's our best choice. The chapters will proceed as planned.

Your name is Simone Frost, although you often go by Snowman, and the game is reaching its crescendo.

And yes, that is what you’re all doing. You and your classmates are composing a beautiful symphony, and your instruments are torn flesh and shattered bones and unheeded cries for mercy. And standing at the forefront, a conductor’s baton between your fingers, is you. You wave it left for a barrage of gunshots. You wave it right and a best friend slits his blood brother’s throat. It is, to you, so very easy to shape this game as you see fit.

You’re just better than these kids. While they squabble and fight and die for nothing, you live as though you’re on a light hike. You avoid heavy brush, so your uniform is only slightly wrinkled. You have no bruises or wounds- there are few in the class that would pose a physical challenge to you, but you haven’t had much need for your hands thus far. You struck down Rose Lalonde, but that was trivial. If you caught sight or heard the approach of your classmates, you avoided them most of the time. Not out of cowardice, but because it wouldn’t be fun otherwise. Any combat between you and a classmate would be entirely one-sided.

One-sided fights are ever so boring. What enjoyment could be derived by the viewer of you dismantling one of these children and then placing a shot between their eyes? When you return to civilization, you want this session to be an enjoyable, memorable one. You want it to be the best one ever, one that you can watch over and over again.

This session has the greatest leading lady of all time.

When you were a little girl, you remember the first session you watched. The winner who emerged was an elegant young woman, beautiful and distant, her skin like porcelain under a spotty covering of blood and grime. Dozens of cameras surrounded her, but she didn’t seem to care. She was staring at the starry sky, because that’s where she belonged. She was beyond the pettiness of this world. She had become a goddess.

That day was the first time in your life you felt real, profound desire. Everything you’ve tried to get, for as long as you can remember, came to you with no trouble at all. You always knew that you were born different, born better. Alas, every challenge you sought fell before you like dominos. You wanted the greatest challenge of all: the Program. Win and you become immortal. Lose and you are forgotten.

Your first opportunity came when you were nine years old. There was a group of eight children, a couple of years your senior, who would head out to the woods on the outskirts of the city and play “Program”. Their weapons were rocks and sticks and homemade slings. You followed them deep into the woods one day, and they sneered that you were too young and too small to play.

You killed five of them outright. Each one, with your hands. They tried to fight with their makeshift weapons, but your father had placed you in martial arts the month after you took your first steps. The survivors ran, but you had blocked them off and there was no other option for them but to go deeper in the forest.

It took two days to hunt the three of down and kill each one. A few hours later, a search party discovered you- bloody and bruised, but without any serious wounds.

Of course, nobody believed a child could have killed them all. They decided it was the work of a serial killer of some sort and you had escaped him. Your father’s money and the incredible corruption of the police department helped with that, but you were careful not to leave any evidence to directly connect you to it.

That was when you realized you could do anything, absolutely anything you wanted. Nothing and no one could stop you. You could kill anyone, take anything, have whatever, and hiding your crime wouldn’t even be difficult. When you got a little older, you added something else: men. They were like trophies to be won, but touch them or speak to them in a certain way and they were softer than putty. The older you got, the easier it was, and then you leveraged your looks into money, power, whatever. You wrapped men around your fingers and played with them until you got bored, and then you forgot about them. Like all people, they were totally disposable.

Then you met Slick.

He didn’t seem like much- an angry young man, hateful of the world and without a true outlet for his anger. But he ended up being so much more- powerful and charismatic, intelligent and ambitious. He was like you, almost.

You had to have him. You beat him down in fight after fight, his tenacity refusing to allow him to accept his defeat. In time, it became a sort of love- you rewarded his pain with pleasure, and he fought all the harder. Not the challenge you sought, but an amusing distraction.

Then he broke it off with you, the first and only time that has happened. Told you he thought you were too dangerous, even for him. It took quite a lot of restraint to not snap his neck.

But you’ll kill him yet. Just another tiny hurdle on your path to victory.

You’ve identified where both of the major factions are sleeping: Slick and his friends have settled in a campsite on a hill, while PM and her toys are in the lighthouse.

Pandora. She fascinates you- a perfect killer, like yourself, but you can tell that she loathes herself for it. She hates her power, she hates her control. She wishes she could be weak and helpless once more, how she once was. You’d love to fight her, you honestly don’t know if you’ll beat her.

So that’s what you’ll do. You’ll go the lighthouse and kill any of the bullet sponges Pandora has surrounded herself with. Rose Lalonde, John Egbert? Pathetic. Won’t even faze you.

Then you find Pandora and get the jump on her. She’s certainly too strong to beat quickly, but if you can wound her, then you’ll just wear her down and she’s dead. Simple.

You walk up to the lighthouse door. You retraced Makara’s steps and found that there was a skirmish of some sort in a clearing just past the treeline. You found blood in three different places, a gore-soaked bat, and a trio of shell casings. There were footsteps leading away from the scene back here. Simple tracking.

You grasp the doorknob and let the door swing open. The hallway is dark, but you ready your gun in one hand, Vantas’ kama in the other, and step inside.

You don’t go far before you find something.

At the foot of the stairs is a corpse. The head is so badly savaged that it takes you several seconds to recognize who it is in the dark- but all but one girls on the island with long dark hair (besides you) are dead.

Vriska Serket. Her head’s been caved in with a bludgeon of some kind.

You hear a gun cock.

“What are you doing here?” whispers a harsh voice. You turn to face Rose Lalonde, sitting on her knees, her pistol levied at you. In her lap is John Egbert, his eyes closed and his body slack. Asleep, or maybe unconscious. His body convulses with a sob, but he lies still after that.

“In the dark, with one eye, you have no hope of hitting me,” you say.

“Would you like to test that?”

You put your gun up and at her. “I, meanwhile, will not miss. The only question is which of you will I hit, little girl.”

Rose sighs. “Simone, just leave. I’m finished. I have no interest in playing your game or engaging in irreverent banter. I am having the worst day of my life.”

Her voice… it’s different. Harder, colder. She sounds exhausted, in the same way that an old war veteran sounds exhausted. You once were with a military boy who spent a year deployed. He told you about the villages he burned and the people he slaughtered, and there was nothing, nothing at all in his voice. Rose sounds like that.

Rose sounds like you.

“I see,” you say. “You’ve grown up. You understand.”

“Understand what?”

“That this world is about power, and nothing else. Love, money, kindness, charity… everything people do is for power. Because we’re all, ultimately, selfish- friends turn on friends, lovers on lovers, all for their precious lives. The strongest gets to live, and all the others die. That’s why I love this game so much- it shows the whole world what we are at our cores.” You gesture to Serket’s corpse. “She almost got it- but she was weak, and the weight of the truth crushed her. You were always strong, and so when it hit you, you survived. Your metamorphosis is complete.”

“So I’m dead,” says Rose distantly. “People will look in my eyes and see nothing there. Like you, or PM. The fate of all game winners.”

“Yes. Wonderful, isn’t it?” You bite your lip. “I’ve decided I won’t kill you yet. I want to savor crushing you too.”

“So you’ll leave?” Rose asks. “It’s just us, PM, and Slick and his cronies left. I’m hurt- I think I might lose this eye. PM is wounded, too. I don’t know about Slick. Did you kill Dave or Jade or Kanaya?”

“No. Serket killed Maryam. I suspect Slick slew the lovebirds.”

Rose nods. “I thought as much. There’s no chance that they left him without a few battle scars.”

“I have a proposition,” you say. She doesn’t respond. “Kill your friends, and I’ll go kill Slick and his. Then you and I will fight, and see who is truly stronger.” You smile. “Like Pandora and Jack. I thought it would be her I’d be fighting, but it seems my true foe just needed to grow up a little first.”

“Fuck you,” says Rose. “I don’t want to duel and I don’t want to kill my friends. I just want to go home.”

“It will be over soon, I promise. Think about it- you’ll have to kill them sooner or later, why not now when they won’t look you in the eye when you do it?” You smile. “I’ll see you again, Rose Lalonde. We’ll dance, and it’ll be beautiful.”

Rose says nothing as you walk out the door. You shut it behind you.

Well, you guess you better go kill Slick.

You and Slick go way back, and you won’t pretend you don’t have some sort of affinity for him, but he’s in your way. You’ll kill him and take Droog and Deuce from him- they both understand and respect strength, and they know that if they try to fight John, Rose, and PM alone, then they’ likely be slaughtered. They’ll have to team up with you, and then it’ll be the three of you against the three in the lighthouse- unless Rose takes you up on your offer.

A duel? Ha. Fair fights are for fools.

You head out to their campsite. They’ve been using the same resting place since the first night- a cabin on the edge of one of the two small towns on this island. You scouted it earlier, and if you know Slick, he’s posted a look-out outside. If it’s him, then you’ll kill him. If it isn’t, you’ll knock the guard out and slit Slick’s throat. An extended fight doesn’t suit you, although you’ve beaten Slick in fisticuffs before time and time again and you doubt this time will be any different.

It’s a twenty-minute walk or so. You really do love this island- the sweet summer air mixes with a smell of decay as the ground has become littered with the dead. You pass the corpse of Tavros Nitram, a huge void in his head as he lies slumped in the sand. Another loser in this wonderful game.

Slick’s camp is up ahead. It’s just a cottage with a closed door. You advance slowly, your kama and pistol in your hands. There doesn’t seem to be a guard, at least none that you can see. You walk up to the door and try to peek inside, but the blinds are drawn.

You hear a twig crushed underfoot and whip around, pointing your pistol at the source. “Slick,” you purr. “I knew it’d be you.”

“Yeah.” Slick walks towards you, a gun of his own on you. “I figured I’d be seeing you again too, Snowman.”

He looks alright. That lithe, compact body that you spent so many lazy evenings alternatively caressing and pummeling isn’t covered in war wounds like Lalonde or Vantas or Serket, before she got her head bashed in anyways. His uniform has some tears and stains, but not many at all. He doesn’t look like he’s in hell- he looks like he’s been camping in the rough.

“You’re so clever, Spencer,” you say. “Still healthy, still strong, and all your competition is worn thin. You’ll break them over your knee and end it.”

“You don’t look half bad yourself, Snow,” he replies. “Barely a hair out of place. So you’re not the one doing all the killing, then?”

“Just one person, actually. Killing these children is so boring. I want a challenge, you know me.”

“Heh, too well. Honestly, I wanna win just so, if for no other reason, I can figure out who was slaughterin’ all these kids.” Slick sniffs. “I mean, there’s me and there’s you, and there’s that Merriett broad, but we didn’t kill all of ‘em. There musta been lovers turning on one another, old grudges boiling over, that sorta shit. Every kid that dies, they’re a story.”

“You almost sound like you pity them.”

“Well, yeah, f’course I do. They’re just kids. Didn’t do nothing to deserve getting locked in the tiger’s cage. I’ve ended a couple myself, but that’s what’s gotta be.” He sighs.

“Something wrong?” you ask, adjusting your shot so it’d hit his heart.

“Yeah, actually. Boxcars… his throat got ripped out. Wasn’t pretty, or expected. You’ll never guess who did it- Jade fuckin’ Harley.”

“Harley?” You raise an eyebrow and remember which one that is. A decent body, a sharp mind, a soft heart. Her, tearing out the throat of a boy twice her size? Almost inconceivable.

“Yeah. Something’s… something’s weird about this island, I think.” Slick shivers. “It’s doing funny shit to these kids. They aren’t dying like animals. They’re fighting, they’re killing. They’re becoming like you or me. S’only a matter of time before one of ‘em gets even spookier than you, Snow.”

You smile. “It seems likely. Have you seen Rose Lalonde recently?”

“Nah. Not since Day One.”

“She is progressing marvelously in a very short time. A pity, I don’t think you’ll be meeting her before you die.”

“That so?” Slick cocks his gun. “You gonna shoot me?”

“Only if you shoot me. I’d rather use my hands… and this.” You hold up the kama, showing Slick the cold iron. “I respect you too much to kill you at a distance, Slick. I want to rip your throat open from one end to the next. I want to see the white flash of bone as you gasp for air that won’t do you any good. I want to feel your body grow hot, hot, hot, and then stone cold in my arms.”

“You are the weirdest fuckin’ chick, Snow.” Slick shakes his head and grins. “But y’know… I’m okay with that. I don’t mind killing you, neither. And you’re right, guns are no fun. Me, I’d rather…”

He reaches into his pocket and produces a butterfly knife. “I’m not gonna get off on stabbing you to death, but I won’t lose sleep over it, neither. You’re competition.”

“I’m better than you, Slick. You can’t hope to beat me.”

“Hope’s for fags. I just know I can do it.” He bows his head, slowly lowering his gun. “So come on. Ladies first.”

You charge in, and he raises his knife. The kama isn’t as fine a weapon as his blade, but you know the tactile sensation of ripping through his flesh will be well worth it. You swing it in an arc for his shoulder, but Slick twists out of the way. The knife comes in for your belly, but you throw your weight to the side and hook his arm.

You go to break it, but Spencer squirms out. He aims a kick for one of your legs, and you let his arm go so you can leap out of the way.

So it goes. Slick knows counters to your counters’ counters, and you just can’t get a good shot out on him. He can’t get one on you either, , so the fight grows longer and more desperate. You and he are on top of one another, breaking contact less and less often. Your hands are always moving for a vulnerable point on Slick’s body while defending the same on yours, but any avenue you think you’ve opened closes too quickly to use.

He really is a talented fighter- but you’ve always been better than Slick. Faster, and you understood the principles of how to break the human body better than he ever could. He’s skilled for his age, a brawler with a wealth of experience and a knowledge of his abilities limitations, but… you never thought he’d be able to beat you.

And he can’t. But he’s doing several steps better than average. You grunt as his knife nearly cuts a chunk out of your arm, and launch a stiff kick for his midsection. Slick takes it, and you see pain flash over his face, but it feels like you just kicked an iron wall. His abs tightened before you hit him and he weathered the shot so that he could counter.

You nearly gasp as a hand finds your face and takes you down, and the next thing you know, the two of you are tangling on the ground. You’re trying to get your legs around Slick’s neck so you can lock them and cut off his air, and he’s trying to pin your arm down so he can stab it. From this position, you can’t get any force with your sickle, so you aren’t even bothering.

Ordinarily, the ground favors you even more than while standing. You’ve choked out Slick down here countless times, and while he’s just as pugnacious on his knees as on his feet, you have confidence in your ability to put him away.

But it’s not working. Damn it, why isn’t it working? The added gravity of the fight might have something to do with it- your playfights with Slick could be pretty intense, and you were both willing to hospitalize the other if one of you didn’t pull your weight in the spar, but you never intended to kill him and you don’t think he wanted you dead either.

Maybe that’s it. You’ve been fighting Slick how you’ve always fought him- but he’s fighting for his life. You always beat him, so you’re using the techniques that have always beat him before. He knows that he has everything to lose, so he’s throwing as much as he can at you in the hopes that something will work.

He manages to cut your arm. You hiss in pain- good move. You can’t let this persist.

So you grab his collar, pull him in, and kiss him.

The inside of Slick’s mouth is coppery, but warm- even taken totally by surprise, he’s one of the better kissers who has had the good fortune to have your lips against his. You feel his body slacken slightly as he starts to kiss back.

For a long moment, you just sit there. The deathmatch is forgotten. There’s desperation in his mouth, though, just as there was desperation when he fought. You would normally be ripping his clothes off, but you feel oddly tired. You didn’t a minute ago.

You and he separate after four, maybe five minutes. “Fuck, Snow,” he says. “I’m not havin’ fun. This all sucks.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t wanna kill these kids. I sure as shit don’t wanna kill my friends.” He sighs. “I want to die least of all. This just sucks, all I’m saying.”

“All bad choices,” you coo. “Poor baby. Let me solve it for you.” You knee him in the crotch. He hollers in pain and falls backwards.

Men. So easy to play with. Give their cock a tickle and they’re yours, give it a squeeze and they’re destroyed. Slick is just like the rest of them- just a finer specimen than most. You’ll save him the trouble of fighting his friends and kill him here.

You swing the kama in a wide arc for the bridge of his nose, but his excellent instincts kick in and he tries to redirect your arm. He tries this a little late, though- you arm is is pushed to the side, but you get close enough to at least slice his face open.

You look at your kama as something slides off of it… yes, an eyeball. Slick howls in pain and tries to crawl away, his knife forgotten.

You stand and raise your kama again. You’ll carve his liver out, you th-

Hmm. That’s very strange. There’s this intense feeling in your chest, almost like… no, it’s pain. It’s definitely pain.

The worst pain you’ve ever felt, in point of fact. You look down to find red snakes tumbling forth from your chest, oozing blood. Those are your intestines, aren’t they? They go in, not out.

You grab them and push them back in, but then you get terribly tired. Maybe you should lie down and rest.

You fall forward as your fingers, slippery with blood, go totally numb. “Strange,” you say to no one. “I thought I’d win for sure.”

The world goes black.

* * *

Your name is Spencer Slick, and… well, your eyes’ fuckin’ out. How the fuck should you feel, pleased? Blood seeps out through your fingers as you try to hold whatever’s left of it in.

But you ain’t panicking. Snow’s dead, yeah, but she’s a stone cold bitch who just cut your fuckin’ eye out. She deserves what she got.

The gunshots ring in your ears. You look up at the gunman, and even though you’ve only got the one eye left, you know who it is.

Droog. His grease gun smokin’, his face creased. He walks over. “Slick, are you alright?” You raise an eyebrow at him. He nods. “Fair enough. It was a foolish question. Do you have any life-threatening injuries?”

“Not ‘less you give me one,” you answer.

Droog sighs and kneels over. “I’m not going to shoot you, Spencer.”

“Ever? Or right now?”

“Right now. We’re both aware that there may be a scenario in the future where shooting you is essential to my continued existence. That moment has yet to come, however, and you are a valuable ally to me in the interim.”

“Valuable ally and powerful enemy. Might be smart to gun me down like you…” You look at Snowman’s facedown corpse and feel nothing. “Like you did her.”

“Simone was not my ally. She would have killed me like a dog if it suited her.” Droog sniffs, then removes his vest. “You would have the decency to, at least, stab me in the front.”

You grin a bloody grin. “Likewise, I guess. Flowery douchebag. But hey, friends betray each other all the damn time in The Program.”

Droog has gotten to work tearing strips of his vest off. “Yes- friends do that. But we aren’t friends, Slick.” He looks up at you. “We’re brothers. We fight together, and even if Boxcars is dead, even if Cole dies, we will continue to fight together. Because if I must die, I will die in a duel with my brother, and if I can live through this, I will do it by besting my brother. Until then, I’d never betray him.” He offers you a strip of vest. “For your eye.”

You accept it. “I’ll need somethin’ cooler than this,” you say. “An eyepatch or somethin’. And in the meantime, Droog… you’re right. Only a few of us left. Tomorrow morning, we kick some ass, and then it’s just us and maybe Cole. Right?”

“Right.” Droog watches you put the strip of cloth around your eye. You bleed through it immediately. “There are very few of us left. Tomorrow will be the last day.”

"I’m ready," you say. "Maybe. Can we go inside so I don’t bleed to death?"

“Of course.” Droog helps you to your feet and the two of you head past Simone’s corpse, inside the cabin.

END OF CHAPTER TWENTY TWO


	33. Not Unbreakable

Your name is John Egbert. At least, you think it is.

What is real and what is not is not a distinction you feel yourself capable of drawing anymore. Everything feels vaguely like a dream. You see your fingers wiggle in front of your face, but you aren’t sure that you’re the one moving them. This doesn’t feel like your body. PM said that’s normal.

It’s hard for PM to talk. Vriska knocked out two thirds of her teeth, so she’s wrapped the bottom of her face with white bandages to match the ones on her forehead. They go up past her nose, leaving only a pale strip of flesh visible. Two eyes, slow and dead. You look at them and see nothing.

You wonder how your own eyes look.

The three of you are sitting at the table, getting your weapons ready. There’s not many people left on the island- the three of you, Slick and his two cronies, and somehow Karkat. You have no idea how he lived this long, although it’s possible you guess that he hooked up with Slick. They were kind of friendly to one another, or something.

The 6 AM announcement from Scratch was something you slept through, but Rose said that in addition to the obvious, Simone had died overnight as well. You had expected her to last until the very end- but you guess the game is just about over, anyways.

Here are the weapons you have: Casey’s pistol, Ronald’s pistol, Vriska’s revolver, PM’s machete, Gamzee’s fencing foil, Vriska’s bullwhip, and Rose’s collar tracker. The bullwhip is worthless, since none of you know how to use it. There’s a gun for each of you- you took Vriska’s because it’s the biggest and you’re the biggest, so you can handle the kick best. Also, you broke your glasses and everything is kind of blurry, so you need a gun that is hard to miss with. Your hammer is broken, so you need a new melee weapon.

You sit there, making sure the magnum is clean and that you understand how to use it. It’s actually super simple- you point at something, you cock the hammer, you pull the trigger. “Gamzee’s bat,” you say finally. “I can use Gamzee’s bat.”

“Are you comfortable with that?” asks Rose as she loads the Walther. “You refused it earlier.”

“I was being stupid,” you say. “So what if it makes me uncomfortable? I’m not going to win by being squeamish, am I?”

PM says nothing. She has said very little, actually. She taps on the collar tracker, which is currently steadily beeping at the trio of dots in the center.

“Do you think we should stay here?” Rose asks her. “This place is a highly defensible position- though it has a few vulnerabilities. A grenade through any of the windows would kill anybody on this floor, and we know that they possess such explosives. If I remember correctly, there was also a shotgun and a semi-automatic in play.”

“Fuck,” you sigh. “We’re outgunned. And those sound really good for getting in here- these little peashooters of ours won’t be effective at keeping them out.”

PM nods. She produces a map of the island and points at something- the river. “Ambush,” she says simply.

“I see,” says Rose thoughtfully. “But how will we get them to come to the exact right spot? One of us would have to act as bait, I imagine.”

PM nods, then points to herself. “Best shot,” she says. “Eyes are fine.”

Rose gestures to her legs. “I was the third fastest girl in the class,” she says, “behind only Simone and Isabel. And not to discuss my weaknesses too much with my future competitors, but my depth perception is entirely shot. I don’t know what I can hit like this.”

“You got Gamzee pretty good,” you say with a small, humorless smile.

“True- I didn’t have a splitting headache when I shot him, though.” The new bandage over Rose’s eye is twice as thick as the old one. Vriska had damn near clawed her eye out, and it had basically refused to stop bleeding all night. You aren’t a doctor, but you don’t know if Rose will ever see out of that eye again. “I’m in very intense pain right now,” said Rose, her face unmoving. “I will do my best, of course, but I cannot guarantee my effectiveness.”

“I…” you look down. “I’m not as good at this game as either of you are. I guess I just don’t have the, uh, temperament for it. Maybe I should go- if they kill me, it won’t be any great loss. I bet the two of you working together could kill Slick and his two friends without much trouble.”

PM and Rose exchange glances. “Why do you say that?” asks PM, then winces and grabs her mouth. Five consecutive syllables seems to be over her limit.

“I don’t…” you shake your head. “I feel like I’m gonna throw up, alright? It feels like… like… it hurts a lot, I don’t know how to express it.”

“It’s like someone tried to rip your soul from your body,” says Rose quietly.

“Yeah. That’s a good way to put it.” Rose looks like she wants to say something- you’ve seen that look on her face before, when the teacher posed a question and she had a burning desire to answer it. “But they didn’t do it right. So it’s still there, just… damaged, I guess.”

“We have this… foundation, I suppose would be the correct word,” says Rose. “A steel string that holds us up. It’s very difficult to break. This game, it strips us down just to that cord- I can feel parts of myself that I have lost forever. I’m not the same person that I was on the bus ride here. I’ll never be her again.”

PM nods. “You’re right. Not unbreakable. Nothing is.” PM sighs. “It gets harder. Wish I was dead.”

“But you aren’t,” you say. “Because of the letter, right?”

PM reaches into her vest and produces it. It’s bloody and filth-encrusted, but the seal and the contents remain. She places it on the table. “Winner delivers it. Okay?”

“I will,” says Rose. “If one of you wins, could you please help Roxy? She… she’s alone in this world now. She’ll understand how you feel, she went through all the same things. Be her friend for me- try to ease one another’s pain.”

You feel a small smile sneak onto your face. “I guess my motives are shallower than you guys. But I promise to do both of those things if I win.”

“Certainly there is something you need to do?” Rose asks. “Some sort of unfinished business?”

You think for a moment. “There’s only one thing that I can think of. Besides the obvious like going to see my dad, anyways.” You pause, glancing at the collars. The smooth eye of a camera stares back.

But that’s okay. You don’t mind them hearing you. “This game can never happen again. I want this Program to be the last one ever.”

PM whistles low. “Tall order. But worthy.”

“Sounds like an excellent cause to devote a life to,” says Rose.

“That’s all, then.” You stand up. “I’ll lure them into the trap. You guys just be ready.”

“If you’re certain.” Rose stands up. “Let’s go win this.”

Your little army marches up out of the lighthouse. You bid a quick goodbye to Vriska as you walk down the beach and upstream. You make a pit stop at the site of the battle with Gamzee to claim his bat. There are scraps of flesh hanging from some of the nails, but you’ve seen worse. You keep walking in utter silence.

“There they are,” Rose says after a half hour.

She points to the very top left of the collar tracker. A trio of dots in close proximity to one another, faintly beeping. Rose sits down and unfolds her map. “If we’re here, then they would be… right here, on the edge of town. If I’m reading the map correctly, there’s a cabin there.” She thinks for a moment. “We need to find a downed tree or something else that we can use for cover.”

“The two of you hide behind it, and I lure them into chasing me until you guys can spring an attack on them, right?” you ask.

“Precisely.” Rose leads you into the forest until you find a thick downed tree- charred wood around the stump means it was probably struck with lightning sometime recently. “This will do,” she says, giving it a kick. “It ought to stop a bullet.”

“Then I’m off.” You take the collar tracker, sling the bat over your shoulder, and start walking away. “If they kill me, then…”

“Then I imagine we’ll follow you shortly behind,” says Rose. “So it would be prudent of you not to die.”

“Understood, ma’am.” You give her a little salute, and Rose chuckles. You walk away, towards the dots on the edge of the screen.

Slowly, agonizingly so, they move towards the center. The beeping gets louder and louder until you’re afraid they’ll hear it, so you shut the thing off.

You can hear their voices. “…So the bitch gets me in the eye,” says Slick. “Fightin’ grimy as usual. I think that’s it, then, I’m gonna take a big steel spike to the neck and that’s gonna be game over for me, but then blam!”

“Blam!” Deuce echoes, clapping twice.

“Droog bursts out of nowhere like the fuckin’ Kool-Aid Man and rips her apart with the grease gun.” Slick’s voice is filled with pride. “I tellya, Desmond, it almost makes me wanna let you kill me so you can go home and plow your hot girlfriend some more.”

“I did murder yours, so that’s quite magnanimous of you,” says Droog. “But I wouldn’t want that. If I’m going to fight my brothers in a duel to the death, I would like to keep it competitive. The best of us should win.”

“I’m really glad you guys are so cool about this!” says Deuce cheerfully. “It’s been so great being friends with you guys, I’m gonna be super sad when I kill you both!”

“Man. Deuce, you are a creepy motherfucker,” says Slick.

You sneak forward, keeping your steps as silent as possible. Laying the collar tracker in the grass, you reach into the elastic of your pants and grab Vriska’s revolver. Only four shots left- no margin for error here. You take one shot at the closest one and run. That’s it.

You don’t think you’ve ever moved so quietly in your life. You reach the edge of the trees and see them sitting there. Slick has got a big bandage over his eye and is favoring one arm, but the other two look just fine. You can see a corpse not too far from the door of the cabin that you recognize as Simone Frost.

Pity. You kind of wish you could have been the one to finish her off. You take your aim at Slick and close one eye.

“You, in the trees,” says Droog. “What are you doing?”

Fuck fuck shit shitty fucking fuck. A chill runs down your spine as the three members of the Crew all stand and face you. “Well, guess the jig’s up,” you say. You walk out from the trees. “Hey guys. Cool class trip we’re taking, huh?”

“Damn Egbert. What happened to you?” Slick spits, his hand fingering the pistol at his side. “You look like hammered shit.”

“I was busy,” you say. “I didn’t have the luxury of sitting on my ass all game. I had to kill all my friends.”

“Heh, you?” Slick grins bloodily at you. “I don’t buy it, sorry. You’re way too much of a pussy for that.”

“I bashed Vriska’s head in with a claw hammer,” you say casually. “Then this morning, I took her gun and shot Pandora with it, three in the back of the head. Rose heard the noise and came looking, so I chopped her head off with a machete.”

Droog looks you in the eyes. “…I don’t think he’s kidding.”

“It’d be one fucked-up joke if it was.” Slick sniffs. “Fine, so little Johnny Egbert is a badass now. Why are you bothering us?”

“Well, I was hoping to get the drop on you so I could kill you and go home,” you say. “Seems I was a little too noisy, though.”

“You were actually just unlucky. I happened to look directly at the spot you were standing in. If I hadn’t, I would not have noticed you.” Droog has a shotgun in his hands. That thing would blow you to bits. “You’ve grown up a fair amount since I last saw you, John- and that was only a day and a half ago.”

You smirk. “Aww, thanks! So I don’t suppose you’ll let me go?”

“Nope!” said Deuce cheerfully. “Thanks for thinning it out to just us, you, and Vantas, though. Once we find him, we’ll be the final three together!”

Man, these guys are well-armed. Droog and Slick both have pistols, Deuce has a grenade on his belt and all of them have a larger firearm: Droog’s shotgun, Slick’s rifle, and Deuce’s submachine gun. Compare that to your puny pistols, and you think you and your friends might be well and truly fucked.

But you’ll take a slim chance over none at all, which is what you have if you stay here. “Hey, you guys stay back,” you say, backpedaling. “I’ll put one between your eyes, I mean it.”

“How you gonna do that with no glasses?” Slick and his friends spread out. “You’ve got dicked-up eyes, Egbert.”

“I can see just fine.”

“But aiming a gun is a very precise and difficult thing,” says Droog. “And I imagine you haven’t had that much experience with it. No, John, if you shoot, you’ll miss. Even if you don’t, the two you didn’t shoot will not miss.”

In a flash, all three have guns up. Fuck. “So…” you cough. “What should do I do then?”

“Run. One last chase, boys,” says Slick.

“I dunno about that- the last one went kind of shitty!” Deuce frowns. “But it’s just one guy this time, so yeah, sounds fun. Let’s do it.”

“Thirty second headstart,” says Slick. “Twenty nine. Twenty eight.”

You dash away as fast as your legs will carry you- but you make sure to pick up the collar tracker as you run. They’re on you like jackals before you know it.

Bullets whiz by your back and over your head, but you feel no fear. So what if they hit you? You made it to the final seven- considering how weak you are, that’s pretty good. Of course, seventh or second is hardly any better than thirtieth in this game.

Your objective is clear, and luckily it’s what you’d do naturally. When a pack of predators is about to descend, the natural instinct is to run away. All you have to do is run to a specific place, and manage to maintain your lead against the three of them.

You’re a top-heavy guy, but you played soccer for years. You can run fast, and you can avoid obstacles like trees without losing much speed. Your main concern is getting shot in the back, so you continuously try to put a tree behind you to block bullets from getting a direct line on you.

It works. After eight, nine, ten minutes of running, you see your chosen ambush spot. The downed tree with Rose and PM behind it. The sound of bullets will have alerted the two of them to your coming.

You just hope they’re ready.

With a leap, you crash behind the tree and ready your pistol. You see Rose and PM, sitting there.

“Egbert!” you hear Slick call. “Show your face, so we can blow it off!”

You control your panting. Without breaking eye contact with Rose, you speak. “…Fine. Okay. Just make it fast, alright?”

“F’course!”

You step out, gun in hand, but you get on your knees. “Go on,” you say. “One through the heart, just do it.”

Slick walks forward, pistol out. “Well alright. Don’t wanna miss, y’know, so I’ll put it straight onto your chest.” He preses the cold metal of the barrel against your heart. “Too bad it worked out like this, Egbert- you ain’t a bad seed. You don’t-”

“Oh shut up,” you say. “Shut up and die.”

Rose and PM burst from behind the tree and open fire. Slick whips his head around, but you move out of the way of his pistol and bring yours up into his jaw.

You make contact, and his head whips upwards like he was in a car crash. He stumbles backwards, disoriented, and you move to take a shot-

But then Deuce opens fire on Rose and PM, and you see him moving to train the gun on you. You dive backwards and narrowly avoid getting perforated.

“Droog’s hit!” Deuce cries. “We should get behind cover!”

You hear footsteps as they retreat. Rose sticks her head up, but a hail of gunfire forces her back down. Neither she nor Rose were hit.

“They’re retreating,” says Rose. “To the edge of the clearing.”

“Not good,” you grunt. “If they regroup, then we’re outgunned and probably dead.”

PM has her eyes closed. “Deuce’s gun,” she says finally. “Must be low on ammo.”

_We’ll be out of ammo by the time the clock strikes midnight._

“I have an idea,” Rose says. “Stay here.”

She leaps out from behind the tree, firing three shots at the Crew. A hail of gunfire is the reply, but Rose manages to dodge it long enough to get behind a still standing tree. Deuce peppers it with his grease gun, but the bullets stop dead in the tree. They don’t have the stopping power to go through it.

A bullet from Slick’s rifle, however, does.

A noise like thunder rips through the air, tearing through the tree Rose is standing behind. She cries out and falls.

You roar in anger and rear yourself up again, but they’re ready for you. You see Droog train his gun on you, and only by throwing yourself backwards do you avoid a face full of shotgun pellets.

You eye Rose. She’s not moving- is she dead? You don’t see any blood, but without your glasses, you can’t see if she’s breathing or not. Either way, she’s out of the fight for the moment.

PM hasn’t been much help, but she’s a melee fighter- this isn’t her specialty. Having a concussion and a high fever is just making things worse. She grasps her pistol, then looks at you. “Cover me?” she asks.

You nod. “On three. Three, two, one.”

You burst from beneath the tree and fire two shots at the Crew- one bullet left. You miss with both, and once again Deuce hits you with a hail of gunfire. As you duck, you see PM dash into the trees.

She’s hoping to close the gap, you bet. There’s finally some good news as Deuce’s gun clicks empty. Wait, but now they know your position! You scramble to the side and a rifle shot narrowly misses you. It passes through the downed tree and hits the ground a few feet later.

You hear footsteps. Rose is stirring, but still down. PM’s gone, you dunno where. It’s just you against the Crew now.

One bullet left. Better make it count. You take Gamzee’s bat in your other hand and wait.

Like you were expecting, Slick turns one corner and Droog turns the other. You go for Slick- his weapon is worse in close quarters  You throw your weight at him, hoping to get a shot or a swing at him.

He shoots again, but you manage to dodge and bring the baseball up for his head. He dodges and kicks you square in the stomach.

Motherfucker kicks like a train. You hit the ground, and when you look up, Droog’s gun is pointed for your forehead.

“Game Over,” he says. You close your eyes.

There’s a loud noise, and there’s blood on your face, and then a moment of pristine silence.

So. You’re dead. It feels... a lot like being alive, actually. You open your eyes to find Droog still standing over you. His eyes are wide and pale and his hands are shaking. The blood on your face... it’s his.

You open your eyes to find Droog still standing over you. His eyes are wide and pale and his hands are shaking. The blood on your face… it’s his.

Because Karkat Vantas- Karkat _motherfucking_ Vantas just threw a trident into his guts. Three white spears stick out of Droog’s belly, and with a gasp, he crumples to the ground. His shotgun falls onto your chest.

Karkat is standing there, shocked. He opens his mouth like he’s trying to speak-

And gets shot in the throat. “No!” screams Slick. “No, no, no, no, no, no, _no_!”

His rifle bursts through Karkat’s body over and over again- each shot explodes as it hits Karkat, taking a chunk of him with it. Six, seven, eight times Slick shoots him, until finally the rifle clicks empty.

Karkat quivers and falls to the ground, motionless. Slick’s face is like a demon’s. You try to get the shotgun up, but he kicks it away and smashes the rifle butt into your nose.

Ow. You feel your nose shatter, hot blood dribbling down and pain briefly consuming your vision. You stare up at Slick as soon as you can. He looks hideous and desperate, like a cornered animal.

“Droog?” Slick howls, his voice filled with pain. The cut you opened has bled into his one good eye, and now it’s mostly closed. He’s nearly blind. “Droog, man, you can’t be dead. You’re my brother, you can’t be fucking dead. I won’t allow you to die like a punk.”

“Spencer,” you say. Slick turns to you- you don’t think people call him by first name often. “Desmond is dead. You’ve lost him forever.”

“Like hell I have!” Slick throws the empty rifle down in disgust. “I oughta stab you  just for saying that shit to me! He ain’t fucking dead!” He turns away from you. “Alright, alright, calm down… Egbert. You’re gonna pay for this.”

“I didn’t kill him,” you say.

“No, but you decided to mouth off about it. I’m gonna make you hurt, kid. Yeah. It’s gonna be nasty, one for the fucking highlight reel.” Slick looks over. “Deuce, get me the grenade. I’m gonna shove it in this fuck’s mouth.”

Something flies into your peripheral. Much too large to be a grenade, though. Slick catches it, then looks down. “What is- oh holy fuck!”

He drops the object- it’s Deuce’s head. Chopped off at the neck, a dumb expression of fear on his face.

PM leaps on top of the tree, her machete covered in blood. “Just you,” she says. “John, shoot him with the shotgun.”

Slick glances for it, but you grab his ankle and pull him down. He starts kicking for your face, gets you pretty good in the process, but it allows PM to run over and grab the shotgun.

Slick draws away, reaching into his jacket. “So… all my boys down,” he breathes. “Just me. Just Slick against the world. No Boxcars, no Deuce, no Droog, not even Snow. Me against you two fucks, with one good arm and one good eye and nothing but this.”

He produces what he was rooting around for in his jacket- a butterfly knife. “So maybe I’m fucked,” he sneers, “but you still gotta kill each other. You really wanna waste that shotgun blast on me, Merriett? Be better for Egbert, wouldn’t it?”

“No,” says PM. “The shotgun’s for John.” She hands it to you as you stagger to your feet.

You don’t point it at Slick, though. “Spencer, one question. I won’t shoot you if you answer it, I swear.”

“Yeah?”

“Dave and Jade. Did you kill them?”

“…I plugged Harley, yeah. Boxcars did Dave on my order, then she killed Boxcars, then I killed her.” He spits. “Feels bad to lose your crew, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” you agree. “But I’m the wrong person you should be saying that to. Behind you.”

Slick turns around. Rose Lalonde is standing about fifteen feet away from him. In her hand is the fencing foil. Her eyes burn with hate.

“I thought…I shot you, bitch!” Slick raves.

Rose raises her shirt to show a small dark spot on her stomach. “Passed through the tree,” she says. Her voice is totally tranquil. “It’ll leave a bruise, but that’s it.”

She glides across the length between her and Slick. He can’t even swing before she brings the foil up and into him. It slides straight through his heart.

“That’s for Dave and Jade, you son of a bitch,” she says quietly.

She slices up and out, and Slick collapses back. There’s a long moment of quiet.

Then he speaks. “Heh… nice one. You guys beat us, I guess. It was with an assist, but you did it.” He closes his eyes. “I really underestimated you two. Lalonde and Egbert- you guys are real badasses.”

“Rose,” you say, “he talks too much. Make him shut up.”

“Gladly.” She stabs him through the throat. He convulses slightly before lying still.

You draw to your feet and stagger over to Karkat. “Karkat,” you say. “Karkat.”

The blasted, broken body of Karkat Vantas flickers to life. “Urgh…” he looks down. “Holy dick, that’s a lot of blood. It’s all mine, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” You kneel over. “Why did you do that? We were killing each other. We were helping you.”

“You weren’t,” he says with a cough. “It’s such a fucked up thing to say, don’t say it. You weren’t helping me or anyone else by killing each other, dumbass. You were just giving a show to the sick fucks who are watching me bleed out.” Karkat raised a shaky middle finger and pointed it at the sky. “Fuck all of you to death.”

You pause, then laugh. “God damn it, Karkat! Even getting shot can’t make you stop being such a grump for like ten seconds so we can have a sentimental moment!”

“Eh. Fuck sentimental moments. I’ve had enough of those for a lifetime.” Karkat shivers. “I just… I didn’t want you to die, John. We’ve been friends for a while, and you’re a complete shit nugget, but that doesn’t mean I want you gone. Everyone else I care about is dead.”

“You saved my life, Karkat,” you say. “All of ours. They would have shot me and Rose and PM, most likely, if it weren’t for you.”

His eyes widen. “R…really? I… saved you guys?”

“All three of us. We’re only alive because of you, man.” You grab his shoulder (the one that hasn’t been blown off) and squeeze it. “So thank you.”

“Saved three of you?” Karkat repeats. His body is starting to slow, and his eyes are darkening. “Well… that’s not so bad, I guess. Definitely worth something. Damn… it’s chilly here. Isn’t it summer?”

“Don’t worry Karkat,” you say. “It’ll only be cold for a moment.”

“Heh… good to hear. Bye, John.” He lies still. The red light on his collar blinks twice and goes out.

You rise from his body, shotgun in your hands. Rose and PM are standing there, several yards from one another as well as you. Both have their blades. Both have a pistol.

You are the last three on the island.

END OF CHAPTER TWENTY THREE


	34. What Have We Learned

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and there are only three of you left.

There’s you, of course— or whatever you are now. You aren’t the same person you were when you arrived on this island, you don’t think, but you wouldn’t say you’re an entirely reborn human. Painful as this entire experience has been, if it were to end this very moment, perhaps you might survive. Perhaps you’d come to enjoy books and cats and tea once more, if not immediately. You are still Rose Lalonde- just a leaner, crueler, more fragile version of her.

You don’t want to die. You want this pain to end, yes, but you’d rather leave this island. You’d rather sink into your mother’s arms and have her lie and tell you everything would be alright. You’d rather pick up what’s left of you and try to live once more than give up and expire. You’ve always been stubborn like that.

Your whole body hurts. Simone and Ronald and Vriska and Slick have all bruised and battered you. You’re down an eye, too— maybe forever. You’ll keep fighting, but what your body cries out for is a scalding hot bath and then four, maybe five days of sleep.

Your competition for just that is before you. PM is a girl you admire and fear and pity all in the same breath. She’s strong, very much so, but you don’t think she’s a person. She’s an empty shell who has been gutted from the inside, a frail wisp inhabiting a powerful outer exterior. She’s given so much to this game: her name, her friends, her soul, and now her teeth. She’s running an enormously high fever, and you have the feeling anyone else would be utterly immobile and helpless in her circumstances.

Her deadliness is lessened, but a defanged tiger can still kill you in many different ways. You’ve seen firsthand what PM can do to people.

Then you have John. You met him in the first week of middle school— he offered you a stick of gum that turned out to be an amusing prop that gave a small shock to anyone who tried to pull out the extended piece. You smiled, laughed, then stole it from his locker and chucked it into a river. He’s truly a harmless person— many have compared him to Jade, but she always had a bit of darkness and unruliness to her. Most never saw it, but when someone was as pure as her, even a tiny speck of discoloration was easy to spot on the white canvas that was Jade Harley.

You’d call him more comparable to Casey, really— John harbors no desire to hurt people. You can’t pretend there isn’t something fun about the pounding of adrenaline and the power of annihilating another human. When you killed Ronald, you couldn’t stop smiling and didn’t know why. John, in your shoes, would have been horrified and inconsolable. He’s a simple boy with simple desires and a simple moral code: _I will never harm a friend._

But he broke that, didn’t he? He killed Vriska to protect you. You can’t help but wonder: if it had been you with your nails in Vriska’s eyes and your hand around her throat, would he have bashed you into oblivion instead? Was it simply because Vriska was on the offensive at that moment? Regardless, John savaged a friend— he had lost control of his own body. If that rage strikes here, you’ll be overwhelmed easily. Physically, he’s in the best shape of the three of you. His nose is broken and his glasses are gone, but you’ve learned not to underestimate the physical threat John can pose. He’s a dangerous young man.

You keep your weapons up. None of you dare to move first.

There’s a noise in the distance. All three of you look over. “What was that?” John asks.

"It sounded like… a ship horn,” you say. “The ship that will take the winner home, perhaps?”

PM shakes her head. “Helicopter,” she says simply.

“But why would a ship be coming, then?” you ask. “That doesn’t usually occur during a session, right? Unless something irregular has occurred, and to my knowledge, nothing of the sort has.”

“Hey,” says John. “There’s something in here.”

“What?” you ask.

John’s reached into the breast pocket of Karkat, who is still and quiet. He pulls it free: a small deck of folded paper. The paper is dirty and bloodstained, but it appears to be in readable condition. “Another letter, maybe?” you suggest. “Karkat does seem the type to write one.”

“No… I don’t think so.” John gazes at the paper, his eyes slowly widening. “I don’t think so at all.”

PM and you both walk over— weapons out, of course, but you look. The first page appears to be a sketch of the very collars that you’re wearing- with detailed notes written all around it. You recognize the handwriting, with its bizarre s’s and i’s, to belong to Sollux Captor. PM snatches it from John’s hands and begins to read it carefully. Her eyes flash with something. She reaches into her jacket and pulls out a notepad and pen. She must have taken them from the lighthouse. Over it, she writes something and sticks it in front of your face, then John’s: ”STICK YOUR THUMB OVER THE CAMERA”

Using the schematic as a guide, you put your finger over the tiny, button-sized camera on your collar. John does the same. PM sits down and writes another note. “DON’T SPEAK, THEY CAN STILL HEAR US”

“THESE ARE A ROUGH SCHEMATIC FOR THE COLLARS”

“I THINK I CAN DEACTIVATE THEM”

You and John stare for a moment. You mouth a single word: “ _Bullshit._ ”

“FOR THE LAST YEAR, I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO GET CHOSEN FOR THIS PROGRAM”

“I’VE BEEN IN CONTACT WITH A RESISTANCE GROUP”

“THEY GAVE ME A PARTIAL SCHEMATIC OF A COLLAR THEY HAD SALVAGED”

“IT WAS FLAWED BECAUSE IT WAS ALREADY BROKEN”

“THEY NEEDED A WORKING ONE TO FIGURE OUT HOW TO OVERRIDE ONE”

“THAT’S WHAT THIS IS”

“I CAN’T TAKE THEM OFF BUT I CAN BLOCK THE SIGNAL KEEPING THEM ON”

John sidles over to PM and writes something down himself. “DOES IT MATTER? THEY ARE WATCHING US”

“WITHOUT OUR COLLARS THE SOLDIERS WILL SHOOT ALL THREE OF US”

“NONE OF US WILL GO HOME”

PM nods, then takes the pad for herself. “YOU ARE RIGHT, ORDINARILY”

“BUT SOMETHING WEIRD IS HAPPENING”

“THE LORD IS COMING TO THE ISLAND”

“The Lord?" you mouth.

“SCRATCH’S BOSS”

“EVERYONE’S BOSS”

“THE MOST POWERFUL PERSON IN THE EMPIRE BESIDES THE EMPRESS”

“RESISTANCE WAS SCARED OF HIM”

“HE’S HEAVILY INVOLVED IN THE PROGRAM, TOO”

You walk over and take the notepad on your own. Your handwriting is far neater than PM’s blocky scrawl or John’s clipped and graceless pensmanship. “WHY ARE YOU SO SURE IT’S HIM?”

PM replies. “THEY THINK HE’S BEEN PLANNING SOMETHING RELATED TO THE PROGRAM”

“USING IT FOR SOME END OR ANOTHER”

“THERE IS NO REASON FOR A SHIP TO COME TO THE ISLAND OTHERWISE”

“THAT WASN’T THE HORN OF ONE OF THE CRUISERS PATROLLING THE ISLAND”

The notepad is beginning to run thin. “A NEW SHIP CAME ALL THE WAY OUT HERE? IT’S SOMETHING BIG”

You consider this for a moment. “ _And?_ ”

“AND IF THE LORD’S COMING TO THE ISLAND, SOMEONE HAS TO RECEIVE HIM AT THE DOCKS”

“THAT MEANS SCRATCH WILL HAVE TO SEND A BUNCH OF SOLDIERS THERE”

“SO THE SCHOOL WILL BE UNPROTECTED”

“I DEACTIVATE YOUR COLLARS, GO TO THE SCHOOL”

“YOU FOLLOW AND WE KILL EVERYONE INSIDE”

“WE TAKE OFF THE COLLARS, FIND A BOAT AND LEAVE THE ISLAND IN THE COMMOTION”

You frown. “BUT WON’T THE CRUISERS GET US, ANYWAYS?”

“WE’RE THREE TEENAGERS”

“EVERYONE WILL BE FOCUSED ON PROTECTING THE LORD, NOT FINDING US”

“PLUS WE’LL HAVE MUCH BETTER WEAPONRY”

“AND A BIG HEAD START, THE SHIP WON’T BE ABLE TO DOCK FOR AT LEAST AN HOUR”

You pause, looking at John. He takes the pad, rips off the final sheet, and writes seven simple words:

“I DON’T WANT TO KILL YOU GUYS”

You take it from him and write two of your own: “ME NEITHER”.

PM writes her own message beneath yours: “AS SOON AS I’M DONE, GET SLICK AND CO’S AMMO AND WALK TO THE SCHOOL. I’LL BE INSIDE.”

PM takes some of the discarded sheets and begins tightly rolling them up. She flattens them, then wettens them with Cole’s blood from the blade of her machete.

She walks behind you. Your breath catches in your throat. If she wanted to, PM could run you through and that’d be it. This could be a ruse on her part to dispose of both you and John.

John’s eyes become huge. “PM, what are you-”

There’s a gunshot.

You look back, and PM’s fired her pistol into the air. There’s something warm and wet on the back of your neck- the paper’s been jammed inside. You feel something shift, and the light on your collar shuts off.

“Sorry,” she says. “But it’s game over for you two.”

PM pushes you and you fall over, blood trickling down your neck. You look up as she fires her gun again, the sound splitting the air once more.

She jams another bloodied paper into John’s collar too. His collar shorts and shuts off. She walks off, leaving John and you alone.

The moment she’s out of the clearing, the two of you rise. You follow John in picking up the weapons scattered around the clearing: Slick’s rifle and Deuce’s grenade. The grease gun is out of ammo, which isn’t surprising considering how liberal the Crew was with their bullets.

The rifle is empty, though, so John looks over the corpse of Droog for shotgun rounds while you search Slick. He looks almost peaceful, even after the brutalizing his body took before he gave up.

He had ammo stuffed in his pocket, twelve shots on a length. It goes inside your bra, which is sweaty and grimy and disgusting from being worn for three straight days. You think you’ll burn it with the rest of your outfit when you go home.

You take a moment to load your weapons. You have twelve shots in the rifle and another four in your pistol. John has ten shotgun rounds now, one in the chamber, four in the barrel, and five in his pockets. This joins his revolver, which has only a single shot, and Deuce’s lone remaining grenade. This joins your rapier as well as John’s bat. Not a bad set of armaments.

The two of you walk to the school in silence. Eventually, the modest building comes into view from the treeline.

You get a sense of dread just from looking at it. It’s an evil, evil place, almost tangibly so. The air feels metallic and ashen around it. It needs to be destroyed. Of course, leaving the trees and getting close to the school would mean you two are entering a no-man’s-land, and that would kill you both if your collars are still active.

Maybe they’re still working, and all PM did was shut off the light. Maybe she was wrong, or tricking you, and the moment you step out of the treeline your heads will pop like pimples.

You feel something. John has come up beside you. He takes your hand and leads you forward. His hand is warm- or maybe you’re just cold.

You walk into view, and… nothing happens. You don’t blow up or drop dead. He smiles. _I told you so._

Still, caution must be exercised. You sneak up to the window, peeking through it. The hallway has two doors in it, one leading to the classroom and the other to what must be the command room. You can see two soldiers at the classroom end of the hallway, talking to PM. After a moment, they let her pass through into the room beyond- that must be where Scratch is.

You kneel down and point at John’s grenade. He understands, handing it over to you. You creep over to the door and open it just a crack. John pulls the pin out, and you roll it down the hallway to the two soldiers. You stick your fingers in your ears.

There’s a savage explosion, a demon’s roar. Immediately, you and John are on your feet and through the door. You look at the direction the grenade was just thrown in. All that’s left of the two soldiers is a few burned scraps of flesh and big red-and-black smears on the destroyed walls.

A soldier runs into the hallway from the command room, and John shoots. The man is blown backwards and falls down, dead. You take aim at the wall and fire three shots through, your rifle blowing through it each time. After the third shot, there’s a scream and a crashing.

John runs over to the command room door and checks. “It’s clear,” he says calmly. You nod and head down the hallway to the room PM just entered. The door has been blown halfway off its hinges, and you kick it the rest of the way down.

There are two living people in the room and one dead one. The living people are PM, who is standing, and Scratch, who is on the floor with a machete to his throat. The dead person is a soldier who has a gaping wound in his chest.

Scratch’s emerald eyes go to you. “Ah, Miss Lalonde. A cunning deception, I see. How did you deactivate the collars?”

It’s PM who speaks. “Blocked the pressure sensor. The collar couldn’t monitor vitals- it assumed they were dead. Only lasts while the paper is in, though.”

“Where is the remote, Scratch?” you ask as you walk inside. John follows behind you, and the three of you surround him. “All the men in here are dead. Nobody is coming to help you.”

“A mere skeleton crew, Miss Lalonde,” says the doctor. “Myself and five others. The other sixteen staffers are running an errand, and they will be most displeased with your actions. I believe that I would make an excellent hostage-”

John rears back and kicks Scratch in the face. The man’s hand jolts back, and three teeth fall to the ground with satisfying clacks. “The remote,” says John. “Where is it?”

With a wince, Scratch points to the desk. This room appears to be the classroom from earlier, but they collapsed all the student’s desks and only the teacher’s desk remains. You walk over and find the remote. It seems quite simple- thirty-one numbered red buttons to detonate collars (the extra for the test collar Scratch demonstrated before the game began, you suppose,) and a green button to deactivate them. You press the green button, and with a hydraulic hiss, your collar pops open and falls to the ground. So do John and PM’s.

“There,” says Scratch. “I am cooperating, I am meeting your demands. Why don’t the three of you calm down and realize that I am more valuable alive than dead?”

“You are,” agrees PM. She pulls her machete back.

And then slashes Scratch’s stomach open. He gasps as his intestines begin to tumble out like red snakes, and he takes hold of his stomach to keep them in. “I told you I’d kill you, didnt I?” PM asks.

Scratch’s pale face has drained of what little color that it had, and his eyes begin to go blank. “Well… well done, Miss Merriett. And you as well, Miss Lalonde. Even you, Mister Egbert, you’ve exceeded all my expectations. All three of you have become fine young adults. I’m very proud of you.”

“One question before you bleed out,” says John. “Why do you do this? What made you hate us so much?”

“Hate you? My dear boy, I adore children.” Scratch chuckles weakly. “You are this nation’s future, after all. When I was a lad, Mister Egbert, the Empire was at war. I saw soldiers shoot my father in front of me- I saw them take my mother in front of me. I saw them pile corpses up like sandbags, I saw them run their prisoners over with their tanks, I saw them set fire to hostages and watch them burn for fun. Those were men without honor, men without discipline. They were just animals, given power and abusing it however they wished. The Empire deserves better than that. It deserves… refinement. And children will always grow up fat and soft without some impetus to improve. But look at the three of you now: Mister Egbert, did you ever think yourself capable of gunning a man down in cold blood, as you did only moments ago? Miss Lalonde, does my pain not amuse and enthrall you? Miss Merriett, did cutting me open not provide you with pleasure for the first time in two years? Did any of you think yourselves capable of stabbing a friend in the heart, shooting a boy in the face to ruin his corpse after killing him, crushing a helpless person’s head with a claw hammer? I’ve refined you all. I’ve stripped all the waste and detritus away and created three lean, intelligent, capable weapons.” He spits out some blood. “I’m proud to see what you three have become.”

None of you say anything for a long moment. “You’re sick,” says PM softly. “I almost pity you.”

“I thought you, of all people, would understand, Miss Merriett.” Scratch grunts as a larger and larger blood puddle pools under him, ruining his fine green pants. “All I ever sought was to teach you children a valuable lesson and turn you into adults.”

“And you achieve this by massacring our classmates?” you ask. “By damaging the psyches of the winners so badly that the majority of them never live to see adulthood?”

“A majority, yes, but not _all_ of them, Miss Lalonde.” Scratch smiles weakly. “There is a monster in each person’s chest- a snarling, spitting beast wrapped in a hundred thousand chains and sealed in the darkest recesses of your hearts. Freeing that beast is what allowed some of your classmates, like Mister Makara, to find success in this game. It’s what allowed you to combat Mister Noir, Miss Merriett. It’s what brought you all here to me today. But when you allow that darkness to control you, well, it’s easy to be lost in it. It is a rare breed who can release the monster at all, but even they are eventually chewed up and swallowed by it. That’s you, Miss Merriett- for all my hopes, you will never be more than you are. There is so little left of you.”

“So what?” asks John. “And why are we indulging this stupid fucking lecture?”

“Because you know that there is truth to my words, Mister Egbert,” replies Scratch. He coughs, and more blood spatters the nape of his neck. “I’ve seen literally thousands of children like you three come and go, but a miniscule amount possessed the most extraordinary quality. They cut through the chains and they sicced their monster on their foes, but when it turned its teeth to them, they tamed it. They beat that darkness into submission and utilized it to their own ends. Only two game winners, for my money, ever did that. One is dead. The other is the finest man I have ever met.”

“The Lord,” says PM.

“Ah, you’re familiar with him?”

“Rumors. Heard he was a Program winner. Didn’t believe it.”

“The very first Program winner, in fact.” Scratch nods painfully. “I looked into his eyes and saw the enormous will and power behind him. I knew that one day the fifteen-year-old boy before me would rule the world. And I was right- there is no one on this planet who wields more power than him now. The last of the Imperial heirs are dead, and he controls the government. The Empress is little more than his puppet. For decades now, we have worked towards this, and now I sit at the seat of the throne of the world. I’ve spent my entire life simply looking for someone who could be of use to him- I found one, but she ultimately proved lacking. His genius, his power, it is unparalleled. He is a man, and even I am but a child before him.”

“Got it,” says John. “He’s big and bad and scary, and we shouldn’t stay here to fight him. PM, finish Scratch off so we can leave.”

“No need for that,” says Scratch, lying back. The blood soaks into his hair. “I will die of this wound- I have no issue with that. And you cannot escape him, Mister Egbert. He is already here.”

You look up at the sound of heavy traipsing through the clearing. You look out the door and through the part of the wall your grenade blew off.

A giant has emerged.

He’s seven feet tall, at least, a true mastodon of a man who makes Equius Zahhak look like a toddler in comparison. His massive body is heavy with thick, deadly muscle. He wears long black pants, boots, and an emerald green military jacket. The top buttons are undone, revealing a broad, scarred chest. In one hand is a huge machine gun that most men would need two hands to carry. He is smiling, with a single golden tooth among his sharp teeth. You think there’s a piece of his nose missing, but you can’t confirm it- you are terrified to look into his eyes.

You have never been more afraid in your life. Merely the sight of this man has overflowed your body with terror.

Behind him are several soldiers, but he puts one hand back and they stop as if an invisible wall has been erected in front of them. The Lord looks straight at you. He wants to take care of the three of you himself.

“ _Get down!_ ” you shriek as he levels the machine gun onto the school. You and the others dive for the ground, and the bullets from his gun burst through. They go through the school’s outer wall, through the wall to the classroom, and scream overhead as they go through the back wall as well.

He’s aerating the building, and cover won’t help against something with that kind of stopping power. You’re the first to your feet and you position yourself onto Scratch’s desk, propping the rifle up and taking aim at him.

You fire, and he moves. Moves absurdly fast for a man his size, sidestepping your bullet and replying with a barrage of his own. You leap behind the desk and squeeze your eyes tight.

You’re petrified. Olga, PM, Simone, Ronald, Gamzee, Vriska, Deuce, Droog, Slick… all of them threatened you at one point or another. You were ready to stand and fight each one, regardless of your chances to win.

But fighting The Lord _hurts_. Just looking at him cuts your breath off, his mere presence is anathema to your very existence. All you want to do is run, run far away and never stop running. So long as he lives, you’ll never feel safe- and you don’t think something as ancient and mighty as him even _can_ die.

The others pick up your slack, though. John takes his own shot, and The Lord ducks the shotgun blast. PM fires thrice with her pistol, and the bastard does a fucking combat roll to avoid it.

“John,” says PM. “With me.” She and John run over to you and duck behind the desk.

“We need you, Rose,” says John as he loads more shells into his shotgun. “I’m scared too, but we’ll be slaughtered if we don’t work together.”

As if on cue, The Lord fires several shots that come very close to taking the top off your head off. You duck, your ears ringing. “I know,” you say. “But he will simply wait for us to run out of ammunition and butcher us. We need to distract him somehow.”

“I’m going to engage him,” says PM. “Challenge him with my sword. You get an opening, you kill him.” She winces from the three short sentences.

“No,” says John immediately. “That’s suicide.”

“John is right,” you say, your eyes wide. “You wouldn’t stand a chance even at full strength, PM, and you’re barely walking. He’d kill you easily.”

“No. He’ll play with me a bit, I think.” PM’s eyes are sunken, but they glimmer with something unfamiliar. “I’ll die. But I’ll die so you two can live.”

“You aren’t going to die,” says John. He grimaces. “You’re coming back with us.”

“Hmm. I’d like that.” PM reaches into her vest and produces the letter. She puts it in the floor between the two of you. “In case I don’t. I’ll fight hard. You guys are my friends.”

Without waiting any longer, PM vaults over the desk. She fires several shots with her pistol. The Lord replies with a barrage of gunfire of his own.

You look up to see what’s happening, and PM is dead.

She didn’t even get out the door of the classroom. The Lord gunned her down and she was thrown backwards, lying on her back a few feet in front of the desk. One of her hands is still wrapped around her machete. You count at least seven big red holes in her torso, each large enough to fit three fingers inside.

She died fast and in shock. Her eyes are wide and faded out.

“No!” you cry, and bring up your rifle. Screaming in rage, your terror momentarily forgotten, you shoot at The Lord with everything you’ve got. You’re vaguely aware of John doing the same as you with his shotgun. You fire and fire, but somehow that monster dodges everything. John manages to skim his arm with a shotgun pellet, but the cut doesn’t even slow him.

Your fury at the death of PM quickly succumbs to fear, particularly when your rifle runs dry. You throw it down, take out your pistol, and squeeze out your shots. The Lord doesn’t even need to dodge for them to go wide.

John runs out of shotgun ammo and pulls out his revolver. He pulls the trigger repeatedly, but nothing happens. Did he miscount the shots or something? You could’ve sworn he had one left.

Your pistol clicks empty. In a daze, you realize you’re out of ammo. No guns. Just your sword and John’s bat against The Lord.

He steps through the hole you made in the wall with some difficulty, then enters the classroom. His head nearly touches the ceiling. You feel your legs turn to jelly beneath you.

“Children,” he says. His voice is a whisper like death. “You fought like true warriors.”

It’s John who speaks up. Your throat is totally dry, but he was always braver than you. “We got a lot of waxing from this old fuck.” He jerks his head at the still body of Scratch. “It was super boring, and I don’t want to hear any more of it. Can you do me a favor and just shoot me without another word?”

“No. I will not shoot either of you.” The Lord turns and flings his gun backwards. It sails out of the school and into the clearing. “That would not amuse me. I will give you two another chance to defeat me.”

He spreads his arms. He seems to take up a full third of the classroom. “Fight me. The two of you may use your weapons. I will only use my body.”

John looks at you. You can see in his eyes that he knows what you do- The Lord isn’t human. He’s like a cyborg, a cold and perfectly calibrated machine of death. He could have shot you both at any time and simply chose not to because it’s more fun for him this way. Fighting him will be completely futile.

John speaks. “…There are two of us. And we do have weapons, and he doesn’t.”

“We make quite the team,” you say, smiling sadly. “You saved me from Deuce’s first grenade, remember? And from Vriska, too. You’ve always protected me, John. Always kept me safe.”

“Hey, only reason that sword you’ve got didn’t kill me is because you ran off Gamzee.” John smiles back. “I can rely on you. Always been like that. Do you think we can win here?”

“No,” you answer honestly. You pull your sword out and grasp it. The steel feels good between your fingers. “Our chances of victory are infinitesimal. But they exist- somehow, we might actually pull another victory out of our ass.”

“This island’s been trying its hardest to kill us for two days now,” John says to The Lord. He pulls out the bloody bat. “You think you can do it in a few minutes with a handicap?”

The Lord doesn’t budge. You swallow, then set your blade. “Dave and Jade wouldn’t hesitate,” you say. “Nor would PM. Nothing to wait for, then. Prepare yourself.” Screaming, you and John charge in.

It’s fast and brutal. The Lord dodges your initial thrust with a casual sidestep and palms you in the face. You feel intense pain as he jerks you off the ground, his massive palm engulfing your vision. Then you’re sailing through the air and you slam against the wall. You feel your back arch on impact.

You stagger forward, trying to comprehend what’s happening through the agony. John makes a swing, but The Lord grabs your friend’s arm and pulls. John screams as there’s a hideous tearing noise and his arm is ripped from its socket.

Hoping to capitalize on his distraction, you shut out the pain and aim your sword for the back of The Lord’s knee. His head quirks backwards, sees you, and his leg comes up. The kick he hits you with drives all the air from you like you were a tube of toothpaste and cracks most of your ribs.

You hit the ground, and everything hurts more than you could ever imagine. Through your blurred, teary vision, you see John come in for a second attack with his good arm. The Lord simply punches John in the face- snapping John’s neck backwards and pulling him off his feet. He lands a few feet from you, blood pouring forth from his crushed nose and his face twisted in an expression of pure agony.

You can’t stand up, and you’ve lost your sword. The battle is over. You didn’t even manage to scratch him.

You lie there, waiting for death. There are more footsteps- The Lord’s men are coming into the room. They stand there, a sea of black uniforms, watching the pair of you silently. The Lord speaks, and even with the great pounding in your ears, you can still crisply hear his hideous voice.

“The two of you have a great deal of fight in you. A great deal of potential.” The Lord looks like a god from up here. “Both of you were scared senseless by me, but you fought with all that you had left in your frail, broken bodies. I hit you full force, Rose, and you came back. I damn near ripped your arm off, John, and you came back. Had you both not finished with two days of hell, I’m sure the fight would still be going. It’d go until both of you were incapable of fighting any longer.”

“I said I hate monologues,” murmurs John through a mouthful of blood. “If you’re going to kill us, do it already.”

“I’m not going to kill either of you,” says The Lord. “Both of you, sit up and look at me. Now.”

You are in a classroom, you suppose. Almost instinctively, you pull yourself to a sitting position. It hurts all the way up. “It was all a waste of time,” you murmur. “We were dead the moment we arrived on this island.”

“You’re not dead. You’re metamorphosing into something more.” The Lord gives you both a half smile, showing off his horrible teeth. “Or one of you is. There is only one winner.”

One of the soldiers hands him something black- a pistol. A revolver, the one used by John by way of Vriska. The Lord opens it and checks for bullets. “One left,” he says.

“But… I tried to shoot it earlier.” John has risen next to you. His eyes are glassy. “It wasn’t… oh. I was using it wrong, wasn’t I?” He shakes his head. “I’m so fucking stupid.”

“You’re not,” you say. “You’re one of the smartest people I know.”

“One bullet. Two of you. You two have been playing a game thus far- let’s finish it as a game, too.” The Lord places the gun under his foot and skitters it backwards. It lands in the center of the room. “When I say to, the two of you will go for the gun. The first of you to put a bullet into the other wins. The loser dies. The winner gets to go home.”

You stare at The Lord for a long moment. There are no words in your throat. Kill John. Die. Kill John. Die.

Again, John beats you to speaking. “You’re lying. We killed your men, we killed Scratch, we fucked up your precious game. We’ll both die in here, you’re just trying to screw with us.”

“No. I am not.” The Lord’s dismissal is flat and simple, but you don’t doubt it for a moment. “I don’t care how many of my men you kill. Every game must have a winner. There has never been one that didn’t, and this will not be the first.”

You think for a moment. “There are no winners in this game,” you say. “And your plan has a flaw. If one of us gets that gun, what’s to stop us from putting the round into your head?”

“Nothing,” says The Lord. “Only this- if you shoot anything but one of the two of you, then my men will gun you both down. Kill the other, kill yourself, or kill me and both of you. Those are your choices.”

Ordinarily, your mind would be bursting with a way out of this. A loophole, an opening, a manipulation of some sort that wouldn’t make it be this way. The only way you can live is to kill John. The only way for you to save John is to die. He faces the same dilemma.

You don’t want to die. You still need to see Roxy, and your mom. You still have to go to college and get a degree and publish a novel and climb a mountain and have sex and have a family and rescue cats and talk to your estranged father. Rose Lalonde can’t end at fifteen. She just can’t.

You don’t want to kill John, either. He’s protected you, he’s stood by you. He’s saved your skin repeatedly. You don’t think you’re capable of pure altruism, but John might be- he is willing to sacrifice everything for you. It’s because you’re his friend. There’s always that element of falseness and superficiality to friendship that you are quietly aware of, but in the case of John no such thing exists. He has lost everything but you and has dedicated himself to you as a result. To hurt him would be a betrayal of the highest order- you can think of no worse act.

The choice is not you or John. The choice is between your life or your soul. Die with an ounce of dignity or live as a broken, friendless animal who has no place in this world. Rose Lalonde has struggled and clawed so hard, but she ends in this room. The only question is whether or not her body walks out or is dragged out.

You look at John. He’s crying. Heavy tears run down his cheeks, mixing with the blood and dirt. You try to say something to him, but no words come. You are out of things to say.

The Lord steps aside. “Three. Two. One. Go.”

The two of you scramble for the gun at the same time.

Your legs are longer, but John is more conditioned to running and his injuries are somewhat less extensive than yours. He manages to eke out a slight advantage as the two of you move forward side by side. He’s going to beat you to the gun- you realize this too late to do anything about it.

He’s less than half a step in front of you when he reaches down for it. His hand trembles, and he hesitates to take it for just a moment. You take the opportunity to kick out at his leg- the back of the knee, where you struck him with a stick two days ago. It feels like two centuries ago, but you remember.

John grunts and stumbles to the side, and you overtake him. Your fingers close around the gun’s handle and you bring it up, pointing it at John.

He straightens up and the two of you make eye contact. For one second, the rest of the world fades away. The pain in your wrist and eye and back and ribs, which was so intense just a moment ago, disappears. The soldiers and The Lord blur into muted colors as you and John stand in an infinite oblivion.

You and John just stand there for what feels like a full hour. Your hands are shaking. They’re trembling like you were naked in the Arctic, and your one good eye is blurred. Tears. You involuntarily let out a noise from your mouth- a sob.

“It hurts,” you whisper. “It hurts so goddamn much, John. Make it stop.”

“It’ll stop,” he says. “I promise you that it’ll stop.”

“It won’t. It never stopped from PM. I don’t- I don’t know if I can take it. I want to die.”

“Do you?” asks John. He cocks his head. “Do you really want to die?”

There’s another long silence. The next word to come out of your mouth is a single syllable- but it feels like you’re trying to fit a lump of coal through a straw coming out. You don’t know where you draw the energy to say it.

“No.”

“I didn’t think so. You want to live- you always will. You won’t let anyone take that from you.” John starts to walk towards you. You hold still as his hands clasps the barrel. Maybe he’ll rip the gun from you.

No. He presses it to his chest instead.

Down the gunmetal, up your arms, you can feel his heartbeat. The barrel’s directly over it.

“It’s a little different from the gun you’re used to,” says John. “Ronald’s gun. It was a single action. This is a double action. I even forgot how to use it earlier. But you remember, don’t you?” He leans in and smiles.His hand comes to rest against your trembling arm, steadying the barrel.

Another sob escapes you.

"Come on Rose," John says. "You remember, don’t you? It’s super simple."

You nod. “I remember. Cock the hammer, pull the trigger.”

You cock the hammer back, and it clicks in place. You shut your eyes.

You pull the trigger.

There is a roar that shakes your entire body. John’s hands leave yours. His body hits the floor. There is a hole where his heart once was.

You drop the gun and fall to your knees. Your good eye opens and you stare straight ahead. You don’t look at John. You don’t look at PM, whose corpse now lies soaked in her own blood. You don’t look at The Lord or the soldiers or the body of Scratch.

You stare at the wall. You are crying, but you make no noise. You think nothing, you feel nothing.

You are dead. There is nothing left of you anymore.

Something heavy falls onto your shoulders. Hands. Two massive hands engulfing you. “So, Rose,” says The Lord. “What have we learned?”

You don’t make a noise. “Surely you learned something… that was the point of all this,” he says. “To teach a lesson to one child at the expense of twenty-nine others. That’s how much the lesson is worth.” His fingers dig into your skin. “What did you learn, Rose?”

“I… I learned…” You shut your eyes once more. “I learned that this world is a rotten, evil place.”

“Good. What else?”

“It’s like that because of people like you.” You look down. “And people like me. Selfish, cruel people. People who love nothing but themselves. We’re the majority. Most humans are like that.”

“What about him?” asks The Lord. You hazard a look at John’s corpse. He has a small smile on his face-  were it not for the hole in his chest, he’d look almost like he’s asleep. “He sacrificed himself for you.”

“Because… we’re not all selfish. But we’d be better off if we were.” You look at John through your one good eye. “Some of us are kind and good- and they die. They get used and tossed aside by the selfish people. John loved me enough to die for me- and I killed him because I loved myself too much to die for him.”

“What about the others?” he asks you. “What about Dave and Jade?”

“Dave… knew he was selfish, but he tried not to be. He always tried to be good. Jade was unselfish. That’s why they died. One of them would be here if they had just betrayed one another when it was the smart thing to do.”

“And Pandora?”

You look over at her corpse. “She hated herself so much for what she did- because she was selfish too. She knew she was, and she wanted to die because of it. She could never swallow what a hateful, wretched creature she was. She fought it to her last breath.”

“Mmm. Vriska?”

“Selfish- but proud, and stupid. She showed an inkling of kindness, just a tiny amount, and it cost her her life. She should have shot PM right away.”

“And you beat them all,” says The Lord. “You beat every last one of them.”

“Because I was the most selfish of them all,” you say, laughing a bit. “Slick loved his brothers. Terezi loved her honor. Karkat loved his friends. Simone loved this romantic notion of herself. Gamzee hated himself. Of all of them, I was the only one to love nothing but myself, the ugly, vile, grotesque thing that I am.” You touch your face. It’s sticky with blood. “Is that why you won?”

“Yes. The winner is the most self-loving of all the players. It is not enough to kill your fellow classmate- you must take advantage of them, too.” The Lord chuckles. “Make alliances. Break bread. Feel their love wash over you and protect you from harm. And then, when they love you so powerfully that they can’t imagine you harming them, kill them. Betray them, cut them down like animals.”

You nod. “And that’s the difference between John and myself. He sacrificed for me- he threw himself on top of me when that grenade went off. He killed Vriska to keep me safe. He took the bullet for me. I only protected him from harm because keeping him alive was convenient for me. I pretended to love him, and I fooled even myself into thinking it. But I never did. He was something to soak up bullets for me, and to be dispensed of when it was convenient.”

There’s a long moment of silence before The Lord speaks again. “Do you like hurting people, Rose?”

“Yes.”

“Killing them?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because they aren’t me. Because to kill them is to affirm that I am alive, and that I am better than they were.” You look at your sword. “I think that it will be the only thing that can possibly bring me joy now. Like PM- she seemed so happy sinking a machete into people’s necks. Every smile I ever saw her make outside of that was a facade.”

“There are other things,” says The Lord. “But they all stem from the same root. The only true happiness in this world is to be more powerful than someone else.”

“Yes. You are right.” You understand. You understand everything now so clearly.

"Lesson complete,” says The Lord. He pulls, and you come to your feet. He turns you to face him. There’s no fear anymore- you look at him and see nothing but yourself.

“What now?” you ask.

“I have a job offer for you.” His hand goes to your cheek and wipes away a mix of blood and tears. You’ve stopped crying. “I spent my life after my Program slowly rising through the ranks of the Empire. My official position is ‘Minister of Imperial Affairs’- aside from the Empress herself, I was the most powerful man in the Empire. That qualifier no longer applies.”

“Why not?”

“I have spent the last decade of my life assassinating Imperial heirs. You had one in your class- Feferi Peixes. My plan was to force The Empress to place an heiress of my choosing on the throne once she died.” The Lord grins, showing you his teeth once more. “Yesterday, I confronted The Empress during a meeting of her inner circle. I killed all those who were not loyal to me and turned her into my puppet. She is too old to bear children- the Peixes line ends with her. However, there was a… snag.”

“Scratch said there was only one other game winner besides you who understood The Lesson,” you say. “And they were dead. Was she your choice for the next Empress?”

“Yes. You’re a sharp one- I’m glad it was you who survived. I am sixty years old, and I will not be here forever. The Empress, in a final act of defiance, killed my chosen heiress. I had educated her, molded her into an instrument of my will.” The Lord’s smile is almost paternal. “You may take her place. I will teach you. You will kill my enemies, you will enforce my will, and one day you will sit the throne of The Empire. When I die, I will do so having left the world in the most capable hands that I can leave them in.”

You stare into his eyes. They’re green. “I would kill people on this job.”

“Many. Children in front of their mothers and mothers in front of their children.”

“And I would torture people.”

“You’d show cruelty that most would not think a human is possible of.”

You think for a moment. “Do I have any other choices?”

“Of course. You can go home and try to adjust to a new life in a new city.”

“No,” you say. “I can never go home.”

“Then kneel.” You do. “I hereby anoint you, Rose Lalonde, winner of the 44th Program, as my new Handmaid. You will serve me faithfully until the day one of us dies. Do you accept?”

“I do. I am your instrument from this moment forth.” You bow your head. “My Lord, may I have a bath and a change of clothes? I’ve been wearing these since the morning I left for my class trip. I would like to burn them.”

“Of course, my Handmaid.” He offers you his hand, and you take it. The two of you head to the door together. “You can have whatever you want.”

“Thank you, my lord,” you say. “One other thing- I don’t know your name. What shall I call you, my lord?”

“English,” he says. “You will refer to me as Lord English.”

END OF CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

END OF ACT THREE

 


	35. Epilogue

Your name is Roxy Lalonde, and you’re in the fucking hospital again.

You hate it here. You hate the clean, sterile smell, you hate the patients with their dead expressions and the staff with their looks of pity whenever they lay eyes on you. Poor Roxy- all her friends are gone. Poor Roxy- she lives with nothing to live for but spite. Poor Roxy- an alcoholic at the age of fifteen.

They probably think you tried to kill yourself. You didn’t. You saw the car too late, you saw that it’d hit you if you didn’t leap out of the way. You didn’t leap.

It broke your arm and gave you some pretty nasty bruises on your back. Worse, your old leg wound was reopened and you damn near bled out. They’ve kept you for a while- you figure they probably feel sorry for you. They should give your room to someone who actually needs it, but they refuse to let you go until the bandage on your leg comes off.

As such, you’ve taken to flagrantly ignoring their commands. You pace around your room endlessly, you try to convince the nurses to sneak something boozy in for you, and you just generally make an annoying ass of yourself. You’d like to say it’s the withdrawal talking, but you know that you’re just a bad, unpleasant person. Ain’t no such thing as a good person- just evil people and stupid people.

You’re an evil person who surrounded herself with stupid people. That was a good call- they all died so you could live.

It’s been almost two years since your game, and everyone you’ve met since then has been sorted into one of the two categories. Your coworker at your shitty service job who skims profits is evil. Your boss who refuses to notice is stupid. That’s the way this world works- evil people take advantage of stupid ones. The closest thing to a good deed that exists on this planet is when an evil person shows a stupid one that they’re stupid.

You tried to do that for Rose, a little. Your little cousin was an enigma- she had such an impressive outer shell that you thought she might be one of the bad ones, but she also seemed to really care and love some people. What you wanted to tell her was that she should love no one but herself- but that would’ve been too bitter a pill to swallow. You wanted to ease her into it.

You guess you did a good job, because she won. In kinda confusing circumstances, but she did it. One minute, Rose and her allies are fighting some guys and kill them all. Then the camera went black, and a news anchor came on. He politely told everyone that there was a feed glitch- everything that happened during a twenty minute or so stretch was lost forever. That included the finale of the session itself.

When the feed cut back, it was Rose standing in front of a small sea of journalists. She looked far worse for wear than she did before things went black- her face was bruised and swollen and she looked barely capable of standing. The damage done to the right side of her face made it clear that her eye was gone.

But there was something weird in her one remaining eye. You looked into it and you saw an abyss. Any energy, any vivaciousness, any life in Rose had been squeezed from her. She was gone.

When she spoke, her voice sounded like she was so exhausted she couldn’t even muster up the energy for inflection. “I shot PM. Then I shot John. Then I won.”

The press barraged her with more questions, but one of the soldiers shooed Rose away. She got in a helicopter, and the cameras followed her as she flew from the island. For just a moment, for a short enough amount of time that most wouldn’t have even noticed him, you saw a hand much too massive to belong to a human being reach out of the copter. Rose took it, and something about that made you incredibly afraid.

You wanted to find her, but damned if that wasn’t difficult. All your efforts were stopped stone cold, and the best you had to go on was the scant interviews she did with the press after her game. The answers she gave sounded completely fabricated, like they were being fed to her.

When you had been asked to do a similar interview, you took the glass of water they gave you and spat it at the reporter. “Hellcat Roxy”, they had spun you, but the people quickly got bored with a girl who refused to talk to them. They got bored with Rose for the same reason- she had nothing new to say about The Program, and considering that the climactic moment of her session was lost, it was hard to care. It was another two, a lanky blond boy and a bespectacled brunette, who captured the attention of the Empire. You’ve seen a lot of girls your age wearing shirts with those two on them.

It’s been total radio silence from your little cousin since then. Her mother hasn’t seen her even once- you feel kinda bad for the poor woman. She offered to adopt you, but you turned her down. There was nothing there for either of you.

You haven’t stopped trying to find Rose, though. You even did your best to get in touch with a resistance group, figuring they would be the people to know sensitive information like that, but something strange had happened- you couldn’t find any. You had once met an older man who had introduced himself as a resistance leader and told you that he and his friends liked to support Program winners. He said he worked with Pandora Merriett, even, and he told you he’d find Rose for you.

He disappeared after that. You never heard from him or any of his buddies again.

It’s possible Rose is just dead, but you don’t think she is. The way she took that giant’s hand… it was the way a person who had been treading water for days would grab onto a life preserver. She lived for that hand. She loved that hand.

The mystery is the other thing you live for, aside from spite, from being a blemish and a bother to the glorious Empire. Where’s Rose? What’s she doing? Will you ever see her again? You see no way to answer these questions, but you can’t stop asking them.

There’s a knock at your door. That’s weird- the nurses and doctors just barge in, normally. You get up. “I’m not wearing any pants or underwear,” you grumble. “Don’t get upset if I flash you by accident and you go to prison.”

You stagger over to the door and open it. Rose is standing there.

Holy fuck.

She’s resplendent, wearing a beautiful green dress with a long slit running up the leg. The dress’ pattern is a shifting mass of black, like calligraphy decorating the fabric. On her belt is a thin rapier, sheathed with one hand on it. Her shoes are lime green flats, at once fine and quite practical. You catch a sight of her legs- firmly muscled and strong, decorated with scars and war wounds.

Rose has become a woman now- you can tell that without looking at her face.

Daringly, you glance up. Her right eye is gone, replaced with an eyepatch. Her hair is different, with the sides cut short and a green streak added to the rest.

Her face is emotionless. She looks like an exercise in drawing neutrality, not a person.

She says something. Her voice is flat and without anything resembling tone. “Excuse me.”

You take three steps back, more out of shock than anything. “Rose,” you breathe. “Goddamn, Rose. Goddamn.”

“She’s radiant, isn’t she?” says a whisper that makes you want to scream and hide. A giant ducks under the doorframe and narrowly fits his massive shoulders through it. He’s wearing a green coat, and his face is the face of Satan. “My handmaiden. She’s become a beautiful woman, hasn’t she?”

Shakily, you nod. “Y-yeah. What can I say, being hot as fuck runs in Lalonde blood.”

Rose’s face doesn’t budge, but the monster chuckles. “As does ingenuity, it seems. You two are the first game winners to ever share a last name, and with Penny Majors, you are the first three consecutive female game winners. A pair of finds, you are- but you’re the silver medal, Roxy. Rose is gold.”

You look at Rose and her face is like winter. Cold and distant, with no traces of emotion. Hell, even you aren’t that soulless. “She has no mercy and no compunctions,” says the monster. “She will do anything I say. I could tell her to go the maternity ward of this hospital and kill every infant inside and she’d do it without blinking. I’ve never seen anything like it in one so young. Even I felt something vaguely like mercy until I was about twenty.” His hand goes to Rose’s chin, cupping her face. “Your cousin is a wonder, Roxy. The perfect killer. I’ve spent my entire life looking for one, and I finally found the right formula. I can’t wait to see if I can replicate it.”

You swallow, your fists clenching. “You… you big bastard,” you whisper. “You are such a fucking cum-guzzler, gushing about how badly you fucked her up. That ain’t Rose- cuz Rose had a stick shoved up her ass, and this girl has a lamppost up there instead. What, am I supposed to be impressed that you broke her down or whatever? Why would you even care what I think?”

“I don’t care,” says the monster. “But I do care what you do- you’re one of my daughters as well, Roxy, just a disappointing failure of a daughter. I love each Program winner like they were my own children- it pained me to gun down Penny Majors.”

So Rose didn’t kill her. But while the Rose who killed that Spencer Slick kid was a brutal hardass, she was nothing compared to the… thing standing before you. It happened in only about half an hour- but what? What on Earth was done to your baby cousin- what the fuck did your baby cousin do?

“Well, so-rree that I like to have a drink after work, dad,” you say, sniggering to hide your pants-shitting terror. “And before, and during. Maybe if you hadn’t killed all my friends, I’d have someone to hang out with so I wouldn’t be doing that.”

“Your friends killed themselves,” whispers the monster. “Dirk went to fight Caliborn, knowing he couldn’t win, to protect Jane. Jake went to hold off Damara, knowing he’d die, to protect you and Jane. Jane shot herself, knowing it’d kill her, to give you a better chance of winning. Calliope dropped her guard, knowing she’d die, to let you kill her. Each chose death, and you chose life. All I did was facilitate the choice. Rose… she made the same decision, didn’t you, dear?”

“Yes,” says Rose glassily. “There is not a soul on this planet I would not kill if it meant I would live. It’s why I won- it’s why PM won, and why you won, Miss Lalonde.”

“But Roxy, you erred,” says the monster. “You were in contact with a certain rebellious group not long ago, weren’t you?”

Your breath catches in your throat. “No, but I let some guy in a leather jacket I met in a bar plow me, if that counts.” You had wondered if physical satisfaction could lead to any sort of fulfillment. It was nice in the moment, but you didn’t feel any less empty- you felt sticky.

But you think you’re going to die in pain soon- the hungry look in the eyes of the monster tells you that. Any good memory, even meaningless pleasure like that, is worth recalling.

“Such a funny girl. Isn’t she funny, Rose?”

“Hilarious,” says Rose blankly. “Miss Lalonde, you were in contact with a rebellious group- one of their members offered to help you find me. He was intending to try to recruit you to their purposes, as this particular group has taken an interest in Program winners. Or, at least, they took an interest.” She looked down, something almost like a smile creeping at the corners of her mouth. “I personally executed their leader three days ago, and his entire family the day before that. He wept like a child at the sight of their bodies.”

“And in Rose’s successful deconstruction of this resistance group, your name came up.” The monster grins, showing off his massive and horrible yellow teeth. “You were looking for her, so here she is.”

He reaches into his coat and produces something- a machete. He skitters it across the ground and it ends at your feet. Almost instinctively, you snatch it and hold it up.

Rose draws her sword. “Rose,” says the monster, “Kill her.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Rose flies forward like she was water, her sword flicking out for your face. You get the machete up in time and try to back pedal, but your leg sends a massive shockwave of pain through your body.

God damn it. You’re a good scrapper, but your shitty right wheel is going to make this difficult. And Rose is stupid fast- the sword is in five places by the time you can be in three, and it’s only through a lot of pain that you manage to keep dodging and parrying.

Thirty seconds into the fight and you’re already winded- too much booze and sleep has sabotaged your body. Rose, meanwhile, fights like she does it every day. She probably does. You’d like to say you give her a good fight, but that’d be horse shit. Rose is a weapon now, and you, you’re just some drunk bitch with a bad leg and a worse attitude. You go down fast- Rose lands a sharp kick to your bum knee and your weight collapses from under you.

You feel cold steel on the side of your neck. You shut your eyes. Guess that’s it, then. This is probably for the best- you lacked the stones to kill yourself, but you probably would’ve done it eventually. Only stubbornness kept you alive- you’ll be better off dead.

But still, even after all of this, you don’t want to die. You can’t defend yourself, and that leaves one thing.

“P-please, my lord,” you stutter. “Please don’t kill me. I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t want to piss you or anyone like you off, I just… I wanted to see Rose again. I’ve been good, I haven’t been causing any shit. You said I’m one of your daughters, let me prove it.”

“Prove it how?” asks the monster.

“Well… look at what Rose is now.” You glance up at her. “I dunno if I could ever be that badass, but… I’m not hopeless. I could be useful to you.”

“Yes. You could be.” He looks at Rose. “Stand down, my handmaid.”

Rose pulls her sword away and takes a step back, and you slowly draw to your feet. “I made traps,” you say. “And I’m… good with my tongue. Not in like a sex way- well, maybe, I dunno- but I can talk people into stuff. That’s useful, right?”

“It’s interesting you say that,” says the monster. “Tell her what you told me, Rose.”

“It is no use to have game winners die a few years after their victory,” says Rose flatly. “Thus I proposed a special unit of assassins for my lord comprised of game winners. Entrance is voluntary, but the living accommodations are very good and they would have a purpose that would keep them alive.”

You look at Rose up and down. That’s… that’s not a bad idea, actually. “Would I get a cute dress like that one?” you ask.

“You would,” says the monster.

“Well… I guess I can put a bit of thought into it.” You rub the back of your head. “I mean, I guess I am pretty good at killing. Wouldn’t have won my game if I sucked at it.”

“My lord,” says Rose suddenly, “Would it be possible for Miss Lalonde and myself to have some privacy? I believe that your presence is disturbing her, and I feel I may be able to convince her of what she stands to gain.”

He grins and nods. “I tend to do that. I’ll be in the car- ten minutes, Rose.”

“Of course, my lord. Thank you, my lord.” She bows her head low. The monster heads through the door, disappearing behind it. You hear his footsteps shake the floor as they distance themselves from the room.

You look at Rose. She’s so different now. You hardly recognize the girl you once knew. “Damn,” you say. “You wear green really well, Rosey. Pity you went all cuckoo puffs.”

“I didn’t,” says Rose. “I simply saw the truth.”

“And that is?”

“That those who see other’s lives and love as currency will scramble to the top of this world, and to place trust in another is to leave your back open for them to stab it.” She stares at you. “Do you agree with that sentiment?”

You sigh. “I mean, I guess I do. Hard to go through a session and not be cynical like that. But that…” you aren’t comfortable calling it a man. “That thing you were with trusted you. He didn’t look worried that you’d turn that sword on him for even a second.”

“Correct. This is because my lord has taught me the danger of defying him, and the benefits I may reap if I cooperate with him. So I do. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement, and killing Him now would compromise it- not to mention it would be enormously difficult to do. He hasn’t gotten to where He is by being easy to kill.”

“So that’s it, then,” you sigh. “You won’t ever show your back to anyone?”

“Not yet,” says Rose. “Not until that motherfucking son of a bitch shows me his.”

“What?”

“He killed our friends, Roxy.” Something is changing on Rose’s face. “All of them are dead because of Him and Him alone. The Empress didn’t even want to keep The Program going- she knew it pushed the Education Minister deeper into His hands, but she couldn’t do anything about His power play. Scratch was just His puppet, and it isn’t our classmates’ faults. Even if some of them would have grown up to be murderers, they wouldn’t have done it like that. All He did was stoke our hates and fears and doubts under a microscope until they consumed us. PM was consumed by her desire for vengeance, and once she killed Jack, she had to shift it to the next person. You’ve always regretted the way all your friends go out, so you slipped into drink and became the grotesque alcoholic who stands before me.”

“That’s rude as shit, and I’d get mad if it wasn’t completely true,” you say, a little too shocked to formulate anything better.

Rose continues. “This world is a black place because of people like Him. Somehow, somewhere, we went wrong. We let our society be ruled by whoever was capable of the greatest shows of cowardice, cruelty, and brutality. The whole world circles the abyss because we accepted these things as virtues.” She touches your forehead. “Coward.” She points to herself. “Cruel.” The machete on the floor. “Brute.”

“…Rose, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“He thinks He broke me,” says Rose. “He thinks He devised the formula. You to plant the seeds in my mind, PM to nurture and grow them, John to let them burst forth and envelop me. It’s a game to Him- ‘can I repeat what was done to me on someone else’? Can I utterly annihilate a human soul beyond repair?” Rose pauses. “The answer is no- because it’s impossible. A person cannot be hollowed out and replaced with someone or something else, not truly. Think back, Roxy, to everyone who died in either of our sessions. For a moment, even if it was incredibly brief, did they not return to the person they were instead of the person the island was trying to make them be?”

You think- Meenah screaming in rage over the death of her girlfriend, Damara pleading to be left alone like a scared schoolgirl, Calliope seizing control and reverting to her kind, polite self for just a few seconds… “Damn. You’re right.”

“My friend Jade- you never met her, but she was a wonderful person- tore a boy’s throat out with her teeth. Her hate and her fear and her rage overcame her and turned her into an animal instead of a kind, sweet, thoughtful girl. She died shortly afterwards- and her last moments were spent in a gesture of selfless love.” Something is creeping back into Rose’s eyes- a light. A flickering, weak one, but a light all the same. “Dave, the boy she died with, knew a part of him reveled in blood and chaos, so he died a defender instead of an aggressor. It happened like that over and over again in my session, if you go back and watch it. Equius Zahhak felt himself becoming a monstrous brute, so he died with as much civility as he could muster. Nepeta Leijon flat-out lost her mind, and even mad with pain, she still treasured her friendship with Equius more than anything. Gamzee Makara became a beast in human skin, and he died desperately trying to stop himself from hurting anyone else because he didn’t want to hurt anyone. Vriska died proclaiming that nothing could turn her into someone she wasn’t- she loved herself more than anything, but nothing would take what she loved from her.”

Rose’s voice is soft, but emotion has crept up in it. Something shiny forms in the corners of her eyes. “Terezi Pyrope, fearful of what she would have to do to stay alive, died in a moment of defiance instead of going quietly. Aradia Megido, who literally felt her personality be torn away from her, died smiling because she went out on her own terms.” The shiny things have welled up enough to be recognizable as tears- but Rose is smiling through them. “PM, who cared about nothing but delivering a letter as a promise to a friend, died protecting her friends after she failed to do it previously. John… John swore he’d die for a friend, and when he killed Vriska, he didn’t think he could ever forgive himself. He let me shoot him, Roxy, and at the time I thought he was sacrificing himself for me. But he was proving a point- that no matter what happens, no matter what principles are abandoned or compromised, no matter how badly it’s wounded and how long it’s left to atrophy, the soul cannot be killed. Not truly- it can be seriously wounded and even ripped apart, but all it takes to revive it is the right person.”

You blink. “Rosey…”

“I love you, Roxy- you’re my family, and I have always regretted that we couldn’t live as such until it was too late.” Rose wipes the tears running down her left cheek. “And I am hurt, I am so very badly hurt. For a long time, I thought I was truly dead on the inside- that Rose Lalonde had been burned away and a new person had taken her place. But I felt a glimmer of my old self, Roxy, when I found this.”

She reaches into her dress and produces a sealed bag. Inside the bag is a bloody, moldy, torn letter. “By William Valfrid, addressed to his younger sister Serenity,” says Rose. “Passed by him to Penny Majors, who changed her name to Pandora Merriett. She, in turn, passed it to me. When I looked at it, I felt the distant stirrings of who I once was. I felt bitter sadness for Will and Penny and Serenity, and I felt rage at the forces that kept this trivial dying wish from fulfilling itself. That’s when I knew I had to seek you out, Roxy.”

Fuck. You’re crying too, and you look so gross when you cry. “W-why do you need me?” you ask through your hand, furiously wiping away tears.

“To keep me from forgetting. I wasn’t putting on a show, Roxy- that is who I am. That Woman and I share a body now, and she’s greedy.” Rose pounds on her chest. “I survive still, but I’m faint. If I didn’t have something to keep me going, I’d eventually fall so deep into the abyss that I would never be found again, and That Woman who you saw walk in would be all that I am.”

She puts a hand on your shoulder. “Everyone who knew me as I was before is dead except you- and you know how I feel, because you went through much the same thing. Around The Lord, or when I’m out on assignment to commit some atrocity, I must be That Woman. Around you and only you, Roxy, I will be myself. You’ll have to do the same thing- we’ll love and trust only one another. I know that you would never betray me.”

“And… how can you be so sure?” you whisper. “You wouldn’t be the first person who loved me that I betrayed.”

“Because my ultimate goal is to kill Him,” she says back. “To kill the motherfucker who is behind all of this, and to dismantle his little Program and personally execute every person who made it possible. That’s the one thing I like about That Woman- she never tires of killing, she never lets it upset or scare her. So long as you anchor me, Roxy, I know I can do it. I can soak myself in the gore of my enemies and remain myself with the help of you… and some others.”

“…The other Program winners.” You put your hand on Rose’s, your bony fingers gripping her slender hand. “They’ll hate him as much as we do- you’ll be their symbol, Rose. Every one of us won The Program by killing our friends, and we hate ourselves for it- but we can still be redeemed. Rose, I think you’re gonna fucking save us all.”

“I will try my hardest,” she says, her mouth a soft smile. “I only have a few minutes left before I have to get back to him- do you have anything to drink?”

"Oh… yeah.” You stumble over to your bed and look under it. Two twelve ounce beer cans- cheap swill, but it’s all you’ve got. “Here, Rose,” you say as you hand her one.

She opens it. “To the Lalonde sisters,” she says. “We’ve been bent, but standing together, we will never be broken.”

You blink. Lalonde… sisters? Not cousins, sisters.

It’s been a long-ass time since you had a sister. “Fuck yeah,” you say, clinking cans with her. You both chug it down, and while normally this beer tastes like frothy piss, this particular can is one of the best you’ve ever tasted.

You and Rose down them in a hurry, and when she’s done, Rose puts a hand to her mouth. A squeaky hiccup escapes it. You look at her and chuckle. “Heh. Heheheheh. Hahahahaha!”

“Ha. Haha! Hahahahahaha!” She joins you in laughing, and before you know it, you’re both laughing so hard that you can’t stand without supporting one another. You haven’t laughed half this hard in over two years.

For a minute, that’s all you do. Laugh at everything, laugh at nothing. It’s all so silly and strange- what else could you do?

Eventually, the laughter dies down. “Eheheh… that’s ten minutes,” says Rose. “I’ll tell him I gave you a week to think. In the meantime…” She hands you the letter. “You have the lower, heh, profile. Get this to Serenity, alright? She still lives at the address on the letter.”

“On my life,” you say. “I’ll see you around, Rose. I can’t wait to hang out with you.”

“Likewise. Good luck, Roxy. I have faith in you.” Rose backs away, still chuckling, and closes the door behind her. After a long moment, you look down at the letter.

The seal has been soaked away- you better check the letter is intact. You decide that you might as well open it, too, and make sure that three years and two sessions didn’t completely destroy it.

Rose asked you to do this, and you gotta do it right. She is your sister, after all. More importantly than that, she’s your motherfucking messiah- and you’ll do what she asks you to do. She needs you.

And you’ll be damned if you can’t protect her.

END OF THE EPILOGUE


	36. Requiem

Dear Serenity,

Hey. By now you’re almost a high school student, or maybe you’re already one depending on when you get this letter. Either way, if you’re reading this, there is a really good chance that I’m not the one delivering it to you. This is because I died, and in all likelihood it was in pain and fear as my body was torn apart.

That sounds grotesque, but think about it- the majority of things to have lived on this planet have died like that, because they were killed by something else. Every animal you’ve ever eaten died like that, and they had to eat other living things to get to your plate. The clothes you wear, often enough, are animals too. I’m not trying to turn you into a vegan here, I’m just saying that things killing one another is the natural order on this planet. And that’s why, I think, we like it- how else would you explain things like hunting, or violent movies? Our species used to only survive by killing other things- we had to like it, because we did it all the time.

But I’m getting off topic. I’m dead- for a stupid, pointless reason. But again, that’s true of most everyone. How many people really get to die for something they believe in? How many get to close their eyes and never open them again knowing they accomplished everything they wanted to, that their life followed some narrative arc where they tried to get something concrete and then they got it? Life’s about wanting things, I think- and when you get the thing you want, you want something else.

Like, I wanted to go on a school trip. I wanted an opportunity to spend time with my friends. I got that. Now I want to survive that trip!

…Damn, that was morbid. Sorry. I’m trying to use humor here because most of my friends died horribly, it’s just me and PM left. You remember PM, right? You met her once- she was the beautiful one. Oh, I mean WQ had a nicer face and body, but I’ve never met anyone with PM’s soul before. She’s so good and pure and kind- she reminds me a bit of you, only less of a brat (kidding!)

Anyways, I think I want her to win. I know what you’re thinking- “Will, you dumb jerk, your savior complex finally got you killed.” And that’s true, absolutely true! But I think it’s really important for me to go out so she can live.

Because while I’d like to consider myself a good person, I don’t have the stuff. I’m sensitive, you know how I am. All this stuff that’s happening, all these people dying for no reason… I’m not so good with it. It hurts really bad, like someone’s locked up in my chest and is smashing their way out. I don’t deserve to leave this island, I think, because I’m weak, and I’m nice. I don’t think any nice person should ever win this game, the pain and stress of what they had to do would eventually kill them. I think it’d be better to have one survivor than zero.

But I can’t root for the guy who killed my friends- he’s a huge dick. So then there’s PM. She’s kind, yes, but there’s a steel behind her. At her core is an unshakable will, one that can weather anything this game or this world could possibly throw at her. It’ll wound and bend her, but she’ll refuse to break. And maybe she’ll do some good in this world instead of wasting away and dying like I think I would.

I know that isn’t what you want to read. I’m your brother, after all, and you don’t want me to tell you that it’s good and right that I died. And, I mean, it isn’t- this game is an abomination. It’s one of the worst, cruelest things humans have ever done to one another, and I think history has proven that we’re very good at being cruel to one another. I think the people behind this game do it because they hate us- they hate living, they hate humans, they hate it all and they would kill us all if they had the stones for it.

And this game is like porn to them, I bet, because it’s all about stripping us down to what we hate about ourselves. Anyone who was ever afraid becomes a coward, anyone who was ever wavering becomes a traitor, anyone who was ever distant becomes a sociopath. I was so angry earlier that I wanted to kill someone- I wanted to hear his cries of pain because I knew they’d give me joy.

I don’t know what’s the angriest you’ve ever been, but I think that we all have a demon in our chests. He’s trapped most of the time, but this game draws him out. It feeds him our fear and rage and hate, and he grows bigger and stronger until he bursts his way free. That’s the only way to win this game is to let it run amok- to throw away all your love and goodness and replace it with hate and brutality. Some of us are strong enough to handle it longer than others, but I think eventually the demon would erode away anyone’s core.

In spite of it, I still think we’re good people. We might do cruel, evil, selfish things, but there’s no one in this world who is pure evil. Even Jack, the guy who is probably going to kill me, has a soft spot of some kind. Even the people behind this game have something- some moral or principle. That’s proof enough that the demon doesn’t win, never completely. I’m sure the lowest and worst people on the planet would like to prove that deep down everyone is just like them, but they keep failing. Game winners keep dying instead of becoming like them.

I think this cycle will have to be broken eventually. Somebody is going to come along. They’ll have to be pretty special, but nobody can do it on their own. Nobody is strong enough to beat this game by themselves, and that’s why it keeps persisting. By its very nature, it rips us apart and turns us against one another.

So it’ll take cooperation. It’ll take at least a few selfless people who are willing to sacrifice themselves for that somebody, and it’ll take at least a few selfish people who will have to be destroyed by that somebody. Because they’ll have to know cruelty and hatred and evil, they’ll have to sink to the very bottom of the pit so that they can come back up smiling. PM might be the one for that, but I doubt it. She only has me. Maybe she can help someone else.

But it’ll happen- that I don’t doubt. Humans are good, even if we’ve stopped acting like it, and the day is coming where we’ll prove it. We were unlucky to be born in such a horrible time, Serenity. I’m sorry that I have to leave you all by yourself in such a world, but I’m kinda low on options.

Don’t worry. One day we’ll all be good to each other again. It’s in our nature, and it’ll be the case again. I know it sounds like I’m boiling things down too much, but trust me. It really is that super simple.

Goodbye,  
William Valfrid  
Known to all as WV

 

THE END

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Battlestuck: Afterlife [ON HIATUS]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1223443) by [Unofficial_EridanTrashBin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unofficial_EridanTrashBin/pseuds/Unofficial_EridanTrashBin)




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